


Of Monsters and Angels

by PartnersInFanfiction



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elements from Love Never Dies, F/M, LND, LND elements, Language, Lime, Love never dies, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 26,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartnersInFanfiction/pseuds/PartnersInFanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicole "Nikki" Lasalle-Jones approaches the mysterious Mr. Y of Phantasma for the rights to one of his shows for her school's theater department. Mr. Y turns out to be an old friend of her late mother's with a checkered past he's reluctant to reveal to anyone else, even if he's suddenly enamored of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1  
Nikki

“Nikki, I have a mission for you.”  
Looking back, I realize how simple those words sounded back then. How I thought what Barry would ask of his assistant director would be a simple task that I could do within a day or two and not have to be concerned about again. I closed my computer and said, “Anything.”  
“I need you,” he said, standing up from his desk. “To drive down to Phantasma, Coney Island and get the rights to Learning Lunacy from the mysterious Mr. Y.”  
I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Y…the Phantasma guy? You couldn’t find a website?”  
“No, could you?”  
I…was playing Bloons. “No,” I replied. “The mysterious Mr. Y indeed.”  
“The technophobic Mr. Y,” he scoffed. “You ever been to Phantasma?”  
I gulped quietly. “Not since…before my mom died, so…not in seven years. But I pass by the theater once in a while. I, uh, just wouldn’t know how to track the head of the operations down.”  
“There’s no show today. You could ask around. Just look for him, be sweet little Nikki Lasalle-Jones and coax him into giving us the rights. Try to get him to keep it under two hundred fifty,” he said. “Go now, call me when you get the rights.”  
There was no saying no to Barry, but perhaps questioning. As I put my computer in my bag, I said, “Isn’t it technically your job to do that, as the director?”  
“Ah, you think too little of yourself,” he said. “You’re an assistant director, so you’re a mini-me, so you can do jobs like that.”  
“Lemme rephrase that,” I said. “Why aren’t you going?”  
“Because the last train is in thirty minutes. My partner took the car to work today. But you have a car, don’t you?” he said.  
“I could take you with me,” I suggested.  
“Gosh, Nikki, how desperate are you to not do this alone? Why, are you scared of talking to strangers?” he joshed. “It’s a learning experience.”  
I chortled. “All right, I’ll do it.”  
“Good, good. Hear from you soon, see you tomorrow.”  
“Sir, yes sir,” I replied. With that, I left.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik

           

            I could sense the automobile park in the cast parking lot; feel the stage door open and a stranger enter, all from my office on the other side of the building. I hurried through one of the many secret passages and reached the crawl space through the hallway, where I could see and hear a conversation between Madame Quincy the choreographer and the stranger. “Who be you, waltzing on into the theater, ignoring the _cast and crew_ only sign and asking for the boss?”

            “Uh, first, if you’re so afraid of outsiders, lock the door, huh?” the stranger responded timidly. “Um, I’m Nikki Lasalle-Jones, representing the theater department of…J. D. Walker Academy. I was sent by the head Barry Costello to ask for the rights to Mr. Y’s _Learning Lunacy_.”

            Miss Lasalle-Jones was a young, possibly Louisiana-Creole descent, slender woman whose figure wasn’t flattered by the maroon sweatshirt and baggy jeans she wore. However, her name Lasalle sounded strangely familiar. Madame Quincy blew cigarette smoke in her face and said, “Mr. Y would be flattered that you admire his work and want to put on his show, but he doesn’t give the rights to just _anybody_. He would rather die than give the rights to… _high schoolers_.”

            She coughed and said, “I think my boss-teacher and I would prefer to hear that from him. I can come back any afternoon, evening or night, but I need the rights from the owner. We’ll pay full price.”

            “Mr. Y doesn’t care very much about money, but quality,” she spat. “And _Learning Lunacy_ requires quite a lot of effort, effort _children_ aren’t capable of.”

            She sighed, but she wouldn’t give up. “Would Mr. Y appreciate you speaking in his name like that?”

            She made an excellent point, so much that Madame Quincy’s cheeks turned pink under all the powder on her face. “I…I’m not sure where he is right now. There’s hardly any telling. He could be watching us now. Honestly, I go weeks without seeing him.”

            “Is there an office somewhere? Is it not worth a peek?”

            She sighed. “I’ll get fired for this. C’mon.”

            I followed them through the crawl space to my office and realized Miss Lasalle-Jones’s face was so terribly familiar. Halfway there, I realized she was a spitting image of Imani Lasalle. I knew she had a daughter, Nia, Nicole, Ni-something and caught a glimpse of her many years ago when she came to the show, a glimpse not all that memorable. I would not turn her away, and perhaps in exchange for some answers as to my old friend’s whereabouts, I would give her the rights.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Nikki

           

            Madame Q, as she introduced herself without looking me in the eye, led me down a few hallways where I could hear the muffled sound of thrilling music, until we reached a door in a quiet corridor labeled with a gold plaque, _Mister Y_. “No promises,” she said. She knocked three times on the door, “Mr. Y? Mr. Y, there’s some kid here who coerced me into bringing her to talk to you about _Learning Lunacy_.”

            All of her murmurings about this not going to happen made me not expect to hear a commanding reply, “Send her in. Alone.”

            She gestured to the door. “In you go. If I were you, I’d stand up straight and end every sentence with _sir_.”

            “Do you do that?” I murmured.

            “Nah. He knows me…as well as he knows everyone else.” With that, she walked away. I took a breath, put my shoulders back and turned the golden doorknob.

            Mr. Y’s office had dark red wooden walls, a red and gold carpet, bookcases inside the walls, a desk set up with a quill and inkbottle on one side of the room and a piano on the other. No windows, no light bulbs. Only candles and candelabras, but it was lit well enough for me to see the man behind the desk, wearing a black old-fashioned suit or something and a mask, only a few shades whiter than his face. His black hair was slicked back neatly behind his ears. His eyes were a strangely rare shade of blue that burned like ice into mine when he looked up at me. He stood up and said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I have no place for you to sit.”

            There was a bench at the piano. “No problem. Mind if I move this?”

            “Please, allow me,” he replied.

            “No, I got it.” I lifted it with ease and put it across his chair on his desk. Before sitting, I held out my hand to him. “Nikki Lasalle-Jones. I, uh, represent the J.D. Walker Academy theater department.” He shook my hand and when he released it, we sat at the same time. “Mr. Barry Costello is a fan and…had his heart _set_ on _Learning Lunacy_.”

            “Mr. Costello is a director?” he asked.

            Heeding Madame Q’s weird advice, I said, “Yes, sir. He would be here himself, but his partner has the car and there’s no train near the school that would take him here. As assistant director, he sent me, and told me to assure you we would pay full price for the rights.”

            His lips tightened. “ _Learning Lunacy_ , yes? I’ll tell you, Miss Lasalle-Jones, not once in all my years of composing has anyone come to me for the rights to my shows. I do recall performing it…some twenty years ago.”

            “He said he saw it at Phantasma when he was about my age,” she said. “And credits it to his love of theater. I…only know a plot synopsis from the Internet but I’m so interested that I’m here.”

            “The reason it has not been performed by anyone else, though,” he said firmly. “I do hope you’ll understand. I take particular pride in my art, and cannot bear to see it altered without my permission, or ruined.”

            “Understood,” I replied. “Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”

            “So you’ll understand my hesitance to put it in the hands of teenagers.”

            “Not exclusively teenagers,” I murmured. “It’s sixth through twelfth grade.”

            He sighed. “Even worse.”

            “Mr. Y, sir,” I pled. “I can assure you we’re a talented bunch, and Barry has no patience for people who…pardon me, _suck_.”

            He looked up from his hands and his eyes on mine made me freeze. “Forgive me for changing the subject, my dear, but Lasalle-Jones sounds familiar.”

            I smiled a little. “I know. A lot of people say that. My, uh, my mom was New Orleans R&B Queen Imani Lasalle…and my dad is the guy who was in the gang but got mad…and killed them and some other people.”

            “I believe it was only Imani I knew personally,” he said. “Is she still in New Orleans? I haven’t heard very much about her in…some time.”

            I don’t like talking about my mom’s death. I’d almost rather talk about my dad’s because he deserved to be beaten to death by other inmates. “They didn’t make much of a big deal out of it…but she died during Hurricane Katrina.” My hands clenched together. “About the show, Mr. Y.  What _can_ we do to have it your way?”

            He sighed again. “There’s very little that comes to mind.”

            “Like, if you want to come in and give some tips, that would actually be wonderful. We’d love to hear some real advice from a guy in the business. It’s a learning experience, as Barry says.”

            “You must understand, Miss Lasalle—“

            “Nikki,” I said. “Sorry.”

            “Nikki, is that what Imani came up with?” he replied.

            “Technically, it’s Nicole,” I replied, my hands clenching tighter.

            “May I call you Nicole?” he said. My eyes widened but I didn’t say anything. “A name such as Nicole is so beautiful, I cannot part with a single letter.”

            I knew I was blushing but I felt crazy. I don’t know how old this guy is because “Mr. Y” has been around since 1900, but Barry is pretty sure they reelect one after the prior one dies. This one has to be old because he knows my mom. But…he’s gorgeous. “I guess,” I murmured.           

            “It was, after all,” he said, standing up to browse one of the bookcases. “The name of the character your mother played in _Learning Lunacy_.”

            That’s right! The female lead was Nicole Bronwyn. He retrieved a program dated 1990, and I recognized my mom on the photograph on the cover immediately. She was twenty-one. Mr. Y let me examine it with my hands. As I did, he said, “It was the first and only time it was performed, and it was beautiful. You’ll understand my reluctance to put it in a stranger’s hands, won’t you, _Nicole_?”

            My name rolled off his tongue. I looked up at him and said, “Yeah, of course. But…sir, we’re desperate.” He was _not_ gonna give us the rights, so I guilt tripped him. “You and my mom were buddies, huh? Would you give the rights to her if she offered you money?”

            “ _Money_ ,” he said with disdain. “Is not a concern of mine.”

            “If she promised you it would rock, would you?”

            His lips tightened again. “Perhaps.”

“I will _personally_ see that we follow everything the script says. No improvisation. Everyone’ll know their lines and stuff,” I replied eagerly.

            “Assistant director, correct?” he said.

            “Yeah. I have that kind of power…I guess,” I mumbled.

            “Hmm,” he breathed.

            “You can come to rehearsals and give us feedback if you want,” I said. “Like I said, we’d be honored.”  
            “Yes, I was about to say,” he replied. “As you may know, I must maintain my anonymity. It’s a big deal for you to be here, speaking one on one to me. I may prefer to communicate my concerns and feedback to one person. I do that here, at my own theater.”

            “I get it, you’re a…bit of a hermit,” I murmured. My palms sweaty with nervousness around this intimidating creature, but my head determined to do what Barry said, I continued, “That can be arranged. I can give you status updates and…yeah. Anything you want.” I reached into my bag that remained on my shoulder and pulled out a slip of paper and a pen. I wrote down my cell phone number and school email address and put the paper slowly on his desk. “Assuming you’re leaning towards yes, or need time to think.”

            “Your promises have convinced me. All there is to do is keep them,” he said.

            My eyebrows raised. “Really?”

            “Yes,” he replied, a slight smirk on his face. He put the program back and retrieve a leather-bound book that read in cursive _Learning Lunacy_. “I assume you’ll have the equipment to make copies of this for your actors.”

            “No…contract or anything?”

            “Not necessary,” he replied.

            I stood up and took the book. “Thanks, Mr. Y. We won’t let you down. I’ll, uh, make some copies tomorrow and run it back to you then.”

            “Yes, just tell whoever sees you first that I gave it to you, they’ll have to understand,” he replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

            “Great.” I held out my hand one more time. “Thanks again.”

            He took my hand but didn’t shake it. He just stared into my eyes again and said somewhat firmly, “But, Nicole, promise me that this meeting shall be kept a secret between you and me. No one is to know the details, for my sake of anonymity.”

            I shrugged. “All right.”

            He lifted my hand to his lips and gently pressed them against my fingertips. My face burned—I was blushing. No, I was red. He released my hand and I said a timid goodbye, then ran. I forgot to ask for his contact information. I just ran to my car.

            Once I was safe inside, I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, put my bag and the script in the passenger seat and called Barry. I started the car as the phone rang and he answered, “Hey, Nikki, that was quick. How’d it go?”

            “Erm, I met with him. He’s…actually really nice. He gave me the original script and I said I’d make some copies and…yeah.”

            “No contract involved?”

            “No. He just gave me explicit permission,” I replied.

Barry was more friend than teacher, but I still honored the promise I made to Mr. Y by telling as little as possible. Luckily, that was good enough for him. “Great! See you tomorrow, kid!”

I smiled. “Bye, Barry.” He hung up.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik

 

            I threw my coat on the floor and ran to what I privately called, not that anyone else in existence had seen it, the Memory Box. It was just a chest containing nostalgic, painful memories that I had lately thought I didn’t need. Most of it contained my dreams of my angel Christine. Surprisingly, I no longer obsess over her. Yes, it took seventy years after her death to let her go, but do I no longer love her? No! But now there’s someone else, someone I’ve never heard sing who fascinates me so much that I feel sick to my stomach. I kneel at the box and dig up the last letter I received from Imani Lasalle. A birth announcement. A photo of her, grinning with her long pure white teeth and holding a sleepy baby, was on it. The text said, “ _Nicole Denise Lasalle-Jones, born 12:54 A.M. December 25 th, 1995. 7 pounds, 5 ounces. 19 inches long._”

            I admired Imani like anyone would a dazzlingly talented actress. It was an honor to know her so intimately… _platonically._ So why wouldn’t I appreciate the daughter that waltzes into my death, asking so politely for permission to put on one of my shows? Why is her smile, so identical to my old friend’s, imprinted like a tattoo in my head? Does she sing? Her voice isn’t as high and musical as Imani’s. Rather sober, somewhat sarcastic. It echoed in my head. Just when I thought I’d forgotten how to love, here I go again. I closed the box and leaned against it, holding the card against my motionless heart. I prayed to the God that showed no pity to me that I wouldn’t make the same mistake as I did more than a century ago, and this time get the girl.


	5. Chapter 5

Nikki

 

            I didn’t sleep. I was too busy reading and rereading _Learning Lunacy_. For a comedy, it was deep. The tale of an aspiring actress named Nicole Bronwyn and an unorthodox acting coach by the name of Louis Luna, whose slogan for acting was as follows:

_Learn to take constructive criticism or just plain bad reviews like a man_

_Understand stage directions_

_Never acknowledge your mistakes on stage_

_Act, goddamn it!_

_Cry on cue_

_You have to make it or break it_

            Lunacy. I assumed the Mr. Y I met wrote it, but he didn’t seem to be as unorthodox and wacky as Louis Luna. He was a formal gentleman…intimidating and regal. Luna was kooky like a cartoon character. Somehow I had a cup of caffeinated tea and made it to school with the same amount of energy that I have when I get a full night’s sleep. Perhaps the excitement of doing the show motivated me to get to school.

 

 

            I parked my car in the parking lot the students, teachers and visitors shared. It was a very small school, and most people took the subway. The moment I got out, Barry pulled up in the space next to mine. He saw me and hurriedly got out. “Oh, here’s my wonderful assistant director! Got the script?”

            “Sure do,” I replied. I took it out of my bag and gave it to him. He examined it and said, “Beautiful. This was the only copy?”

            “I guess. I read it last night. It’s really funny, at least when I forget the guy I had a formal conversation yesterday wrote it. He’s…not at all like the acting coach, like I expected him to be.”

            “Of course not. Someone that mysterious wouldn’t be so outgoing. Glad you liked it. Auditions are Monday. A weekend would be enough time to prepare, agreed?”

            “Sure,” I said.

            “Good, good. Go to class. I’ll see you in the halls, then on Monday.”

            “All right,” I replied.

            “And Nikki, thanks for doing this for me. You’re brave.” He left.

 

 

            Math. I loved how I can get math out of the way first thing in the morning. But I hate math. Luckily, I found a good seat in the back with my usually chill buddies, Nora and Lavon. Theater kids. “Hey guys,” I said, sitting at the edge of the table next to Nora.

            “Hello, Assistant Director Lasalle-Jones,” Nora replied with a smile. She was desperate for a big part.

            “Calm down, Nora,” I scoffed. “You have to earn a big part. You have all weekend.”

            She pouted. “Oh, now I’m scared.”

            Lavon patted her back. “I’ll help you practice if you help me. Nik, you want in? We can go to Joe’s.”

            Joe’s Diner was _the_ best diner in our world of south Brooklyn. “Sure,” I said. “I would even without Joe’s. But now that you mention it…so _totally_ in.”

            Alec, the teacher, wobbled in and grunted, “All right, settle down.” We weren’t being all that loud. It was sort of a joke, but sometimes I thought he meant it. He was a grumpy old soul, but not a bad guy. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d prefer to teach math. He was merciful. He put his messenger bag on the swivel chair on his desk and went to the chalkboard that was also his girlfriend and wrote a complicated Algebra 1 thing on it as a warm-up. “Warm-up. Five minutes. Those of you who paid attention yesterday should do it in two.”

            Of course I paid attention, but I struggled. Nora had to write tips on my arm with Sharpie. I did that for her in history class during tests and not once did we get in trouble, but I sometimes got a feeling that the teachers knew. They just didn’t care. Ah, I loved school.

 

 

            Immediately after school, I drove to Coney Island to return the script Barry made twice as many copies as recommended. I parked by the back door I entered the day before and it was unlocked again. The hall was crowded with half-naked performers, bustling. I remembered shows were on Fridays. I called over the crowd, “Madame Q? Madame Q?”

            Madame Q pushed through the crowd and saw me. She gave me a dirty look. “What are you doing here? The audience entrance is all the way on the other side of the building, _imbecile!”_

“I’m here to return the script,” I said nervously. “To Mr. Y.”

            “All right, dumbass, c’mon.”

            “Erm, he said I could give it to whoever—“           

            “Come _on_!”

            She pushed through the crowd and I struggled to follow her to the quieter hall leading to _Mister Y_ ’s office. She knocked on the door aggressively and called, “Hey, Mr. Y, that kid is back with a script she _stole_.”

            I crinkled my nose. “I swear he gave it to me.”

            She looked at me and snorted.

            “Come in,” he commanded. Madame Q left and I opened the door.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Erik

 

            She came in, dressed simply in the same baggy jeans and baggier dark green sweater, her raven hair braided to the side. I would have been repulsed years ago, but I was enamored. She was holding the script and said, “Hi, we made a zillion copies, so we’re good.”

            “Thank you,” I said, reaching out for it.

She handed it to me and said with a little, _beautiful_ smile. “Thanks again, Mr. Y. I read it last night. We’re really excited. Auditions are on Monday.”

She was interested in business, so I began business. “Nicole, are you casting the show?”

“Um, I’ll be facilitating the auditions with Barry, and I guess I get a say,” she replied.

“Good,” I said. “My dear, I will trust your judgment, but I ask you to cast only the best, not people because they’re your friends.”

“Understood,” she replied. “I, uh, don’t have that many biases when it comes to my classmates, so I guarantee a good cast.”

Her voice. Nervous. Beautiful. She was determined to please me, just like a certain two angels of music before her. “I trust you.”

She smiled wider. “Good. Uh, I was hoping to contact you to give you status updates and stuff, so I’d need your contact information.”

It was almost painful to turn her away because of my need to be anonymous. “When are rehearsals?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she replied. “We might do Saturdays once in a while. If I had your contact information, I could tell you when.”

“No,” I said, perhaps too eagerly because she flinched. “I…I’ll call you Tuesdays, tell you what you should do Thursdays.”

“Okay,” she replied. “School lets out at three ten, rehearsals…are _supposed_ to end at six thirty, but last year I was Val in _A Chorus Line_ …he’d keep us for an extra half hour or so, until all the parents complained and let him keep us all day Saturdays.”

For Imani’s audition for the role of Nicole Bronwyn, she sang _Nothing_ from that show. She convinced me to have a rather buxom actress who she befriended to let her perform the character Val’s song. She wasn’t terrible, but she wasn’t…dazzling. Imagining my Nicole…prancing on that stage…uncensored. How I wished I was there. Nicole sang? “Ah, so you do perform.”

She blushed. “Yeah, but my friend Lavon was on stage crew and it looked more glamorous.”

How strange! “I see,” I murmured.

“Yeah, so the first rehearsal is on Thursday. You can call me…anytime, but on Thursday you should call me after six thirty so Barry doesn’t steal my phone.”

My poor, nervous angel. I glanced at the clock by the door. Almost showtime. “Nicole, would you like to stay for the show? I shan’t be watching from my box, but I could bring you there.”

            Her eyes gleamed. “I would love to. I haven’t in a while. I’d, uh, just have to call my aunt. I pick her up a few times a week at seven. She’s a nurse.”

            “The show ends at six thirty,” he said.

            She smiled. “Ah, that’s perfect. Um, how much are box seats?”

            “No charge for you,” I replied. “Come. I’ll take you.” I put the script back in its place and went to the other bookshelf. I took out my _Don Juan Triumphant_ copy and the bookshelf opened. I looked at Nicole. Her eyes widened in amazement. It was almost amusing. “This way.”

            She followed me through the candlelit brick hallway until we reached another secret door that led to my Box Five. I gestured to the plush red velvet chair. “Welcome to Phantasma, Miss Lasalle-Jones.”

            She smiled and nervously giggled. “Thank you, Mr. Y.”

            I wanted nothing more to take her in my arms and tell her to call me Erik. To tell her every secret of mine, my checkered past, my inexplicable passion for her. But she wasn’t ready. “I shan’t be joining you,” I said. “But you’ll hear from me.” The audience below clapped. The show was starting. I left before she could say anything.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Nikki

 

            I stumbled out of the box and to the back parking lot. I forgot how to breathe and needed to learn again. Phantasma was the most amazing thing in the history of history. They performed dramatic, funny, ridiculous songs and skits, stuff I’d never heard or seen or _imagined_ anything like. I could hardly remember the last time I saw the show, probably because I was ten years old and half asleep. This one was different. Unique. Amazing. I had to repeat the word _hospital_ quietly to remember where I was going to pick up my dad’s sister Auntie Tonya. She was best friends with my mom in her NYU days, which is how she met my dad, but never told me anything about my mom’s apparent friendship with Mr. Y. She was sitting on a stone wall with her phone. I opened the window and called, “Hey, Auntie Tonya! C’mon!”

            She put her phone in her purse immediately and ran to the passenger seat. “Five minutes late. Not like you, Nikki. Shame.”

            I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Did you get my text? I was seeing a show.”

            “Yeah, just,” she replied as I started home. “Phantasma? Thirty bucks for a three-hour sideshow?”

            “It’s anything _but_ a sideshow these days,” I replied. “Just in the style of one. I’m acquainted with the mysterious Mr. Y dude because Barry sent me to get the rights for one of his shows that…that Mom was in.”

            “I know what you’re talking about. I was too busy with nursing school to see it, but I heard so many great things,” she said. “And you’re stage managing?”

            “No,” I scoffed. “Barry asked me to assistant direct.”

            “Ah, look at you, moving up in the world,” she said.

            “Merp. It’s going to be an _educational experience_ , as Barry says every day,” I replied plainly.

            “Well, I’m excited,” she said.

            I pulled over at our brownstone and Auntie Tonya got out of the car at the same time as I did. As we walked up the stairs, she asked, “What do you want for dinner? I’m in the mood for pasta.”

            “Yeah, pasta’s cool,” I said. She wasn’t much of a cook but she could feed a child like me. We went inside to be greeted by our pugs, Ezra and Doris. I said to Auntie Tonya, “Auntie Tonya, if you don’t mind, I wanna get a head start on my homework because Nora and Lavon want to prepare for auditions with me.”           

            “Go ahead,” she said. She then addressed to the pups, “C’mon, pups, time to go do business.”

 

 

            I texted Nora and Lavon and we agreed to meet at Joe’s at ten o’clock as I spread my homework out on the fire escape. Five math problems, some Russian studying to do, chemistry extra credit, and that was pretty much it. Normally I would be focused in my familiar safe haven, but every song I heard in the past three hours echoed through my head. One may think it would sound weird and annoying because they were all so different and dynamic, but they were amazing. I could do the chemistry, but not the math and not the Russian. I kept thinking of my experience at Phantasma, and what they were doing now. Especially, for some reason, Mr. Y.

            I realized I wrote his name where I was supposed to write my name on the math, with the abbreviation for his title. Written in my own handwriting, it made more sense than the placard on his door. I erased the _Mr._ and rewrote it as _Mister Y_.

            _Mistery_

_Mystery._

Now I needed to know everything about this creepily fascinating guy.


	8. Chapter 8

Erik

 

            I was solitarily rereading _Learning Lunacy_ in my office, until someone knocked on the door. Madame Quincy called, “Hey, Mr. Y, the kid’s back.”

            My eyebrows raised so high that my mask almost fell off. So late at night? I pressed it back on and called, “Send her in.”

            Madame Quincy, in a snagged silk robe with a cigarette between her fingers entered. “Fooled ya,” she said before taking a puff. I rolled my eyes as she sat on the piano bench I hadn’t moved since Nicole touched it. “Can I _help_ you, Madame Quincy?”

            She blew out cigarette smoke, thinking she was glamorous when she was actually disgusting. “How old is she?” she asked.

            “How old is _who_?” I growled, turning the page to the script.

            She hacked and grunted, “Don’t play dumb, _Destler_. How old is that kid?”

            “Seventeen,” I replied. “Why does it matter to you?”

            “Because in the eyes of the state, she’s a child,” she hissed. “Are you fucking crazy?”

            “Language,” I said calmly, reaching inside my jacket and wrapping my fingers around the Punjab lasso I always carried for more than a century. My signature weapon. I continued, “I suggest, Madame Quincy, that you concern yourself with only the dancers and not my business affairs.”

            “ _Business affairs?_ That’s what you’re calling it? That’s sick!” she exclaimed.

            “What the hell are you talking about, Madame Quincy?” I hissed. “She’s an assistant director of a high school theater company. I gave her the rights to one of my compositions upon her request. That is all there is to it.” It was, after all. Everything else was in my head.

            She blew more smoke in the air and replied, “I find that hard to believe.”

            “I’m sorry you feel that way. Now get out.”

            Before she could open her mouth, I revealed the tail of the noose. She ran.

            I wished I had a photograph to hold onto the looks on Nicole’s face during the show. It was always satisfying to see the faces of the audience, amazed and thrilled by the performances. But Nicole’s reactions were priceless.

            What would Imani think of my passion for her? Imani was one of few actresses who knew my secret, and the most unafraid by far. Would she attack me, or would she approve? The thinking set off a migraine.


	9. Chapter 9

Nikki

I dreamed of a familiar yet unidentifiable voice crooning a song softly in my head. I didn’t see anything, but I felt. I felt enveloped in something, or someone, not too tight but not so loose that I could break free. Not that that was a bad thing. I woke up to my weekend alarm clock at nine fifteen and realized I could only remember the tune, not the words. I hummed it in the shower and as I took my vitamins and brushed my teeth, blow-dried my hair, trying to identify the voice. Commanding, soothing, intimidating, thrilling…awesome. Kind of like…Mr. Y’s. I almost drove to his theater to ask for answers, but I then got a text from Nora that said she was there and waiting. That woke me up somehow. I went straight to the diner and parked next to a busty red car that bounced up and down. Lavon and Nora were jammin’. I got out of my car and opened the passenger door. Nora screamed at the top of her lungs and I cracked up. So did Lavon. “You…you, Nora, you’re such a scaredycat!”  
Hyperventilating, she got out of the car and pushed me out of her way. “You bitch,” she growled, but her brain was cracking up louder than Lavon.

We were greeted by Joe himself in the quiet restaurant, who was there every time we went for breakfast on weekends, because the regulars, all old people forgot every week who Joe was and wanted to meet him. “Oh, great, my favorite teenagers,” he said.  
“Ah, we love you too, Joe,” Lavon said. “Table for three, my good man.”  
“Need menus?” he asked before touching the stack of menus under the counter.  
“No,” the three of us said at the same time. We all had usuals—Lavon: Bacon, French toast and orange juice. Nora: Chocolate chip pancakes and coffee. Me: Banana pancakes, two slices of Lavon’s bacon and chamomile tea. A lot of the time we would indulge in some pie after.  
“Just tell the chef we’re here,” Nora said, waving a floppy hand.  
“Pick a table. Breakfast’s on the way.”  
We sat at our usual table in the quietest corner, the one with all the gum under the table that the old people avoided. When we sat, Nora took out two packets and gave one to Lavon. “We filled out the, uh, info packets…nothing Barry doesn’t already know. My sister convinced me to sing I Dreamed A Dream because she was playing it on piano last night. Stayed up until Mom yelled at us.”  
“Cool,” I said. “And your monologue?”  
She smirked. “The Haitian speech from Clueless.”  
“Ooh, good choice!” Lavon exclaimed.  
“That’s awful short. Barry might demand a cold read,” I warned her.  
“Okay. Let’s cold read,” she said.  
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Southern accent. Go.”  
“What’s the point of that?” Lavon asked.  
“Noob,” Nora scoffed.  
“Y’know, to see how she is under pressure,” I said. “You’re the king of pressure, muscly-armed Lavon, at least when it comes to moving couches within nine seconds. When it comes to learning to take constructive criticism or just plain bad reviews like a man, understanding stage directions, never acknowledging your mistakes on stage, acting, crying on cue, and making it or breaking it…Barry and I don’t even know you.”  
Nora and Lavon stared at me like I was crazy. “Is that…from something?” he asked.  
“Yeah. The show,” I replied. “You’ll memorize it the minute you read the first act. How about that cold read, Nora?”  
Tammy, the waitress Joe and we adored torturing, came late with a little carton of orange juice and two mugs in one hand, a coffee pitcher in one hand and a hot water pitcher in the other, and a smudged red lipstick scowl on her overly made-up face. As she poured the hot water, trying not to make eye contact. Nora noticed she made eye contact with her, however. She slowly and seductively unzipped her hoodie, sighing and exposing cleavage. Tammy’s half-threaded and half-drawn on eyebrows lowered with rage. She muttered something disdainful about Joe and walked away without giving us the drinks individually.  
“Ah, we’ll give her a nice big tip,” Lavon said.  
Nora scoffed. “That’s up to you.”  
“How about that cold read?” I said.  
“Okay, Southern accent,” she muttered.  
“Nope,” I said, prepared to torture my friend. “Russian accent.”  
Her eyes widened. “Oh, hell no.” Nora’s father was Russian and had the awesomest accent ever, but she flunked out of Russian class and just wouldn’t have anything to do with the language, culture or anything. But she could do it.  
“Do it,” I hissed.  
She sighed, took a big sip of coffee, swallowed and cleared her throat. She closed her eyes and then recited an excerpt from the classic 90s movie Clueless. She did this by overdoing the R’s and maintaining one tone. She sounded like Apu from The Simpsons, except funny in a different way. In an epic fail way. When she was done, she took another eagar sip of coffee and said immediately after swallowing, “Please, Nikki, don’t make me do that. Not for the actual audition. I wanna do it good.”  
I giggled. “Okay, fine.”  
“You’re a cold bitch, Nicole Denise Lasalle-Jones,” Lavon said.  
Tammy came with the food and bothered to place them where they were supposed to be. I couldn’t focus on the breakfast masterpiece, though. I never heard Lavon, who was my best dude friend since he said yo to me on my first day of Walker, call me Nicole. I’ve never heard my mother, my father, my aunt, my grandparents, my neighbors, my teachers, nobody call me Nicole. Only Mr. Y. Mystery. It sounded a little ridiculous from Lavon. It sounded right from Mr. Y. I tried successfully to remember how the plain, everyday name rolled off his tongue like no one else could. Beautiful.  
“Hey, Nikki, aren’t you gonna steal some of Lavon’s bacon before he stuffs it in his face and has a heart attack?”  
Nora’s reminder woke me up from my daydream. Lavon noticed I was acting strange, so I quickly snatched two long pieces of bacon from the side dish.  
“What’s up your fanny?” Lavon scoffed.  
“Nothing…” I murmured. “Just a little butt plug.”  
“Ah, there’s my Nikki!” Nora exclaimed.  
We ate, and during our normal teenage conversation, somewhere in the back of my head the song in my dream was playing and it was gloriously distracting.


	10. Chapter 10

10  
Erik

I didn’t really need to know how auditions went. I just needed to hear her voice again. In her dreams she was so quiet, so serene. She didn’t fight, but she wasn’t curious. She just let it happen and easily enjoyed it. But I had to hear her. I was grateful to have an excuse to. All I had to do was dial the number I memorized but kept on my desk. Madame Quincy and the cast and crew had left, so there would be no distractions. Nothing to stop me, except for myself. I held my breath and swiftly pressed on the cord phone her cellular phone number, held the receiver to my ear and listened to it ring, praying she would pick up soon.  
“Hello?” a curious voice answered.  
Talk, Erik, talk! “Yes, is this Nicole?”  
“Mr. Y?” she said.  
If only it were appropriate to tell her who I really was. If only! “Yes,” I replied.  
“Oh, hi,” she said. I could feel her smiling. “I’m just exiting school. Uh, we formed a cast with no trouble and I can assure you my theater friends worked hard for the roles and they’ll do you proud.”  
It was so amusing how eager she was to please me. “Good, good,” I replied. I didn’t know what to say from there, but I felt like she expected more from me. “So the first rehearsal is…this Thursday?”  
“Yeah. If you wanna call me about it, I suggest doing it after seven because first rehearsals last forever,” she said.  
An opportunity! It would have to do. “Thank you, Nicole. I look forward to hearing about the first rehearsal. I’ll call you then.”  
“Okay. Bye, Mr. Y,” she replied.  
I whispered my real name as a tone that signified she hung up filled my ears. A shrill tone that made me slam the receiver onto its perch.


	11. Chapter 11

Nikki

 

            A flash of light came on me, burning my skin. The theater was empty, but I felt watched. Only one person, whose critical eyes were the equivalent to a full house, was watching from a box. “Sing,” he commanded, not meaning to be terrifying. But he was.

            I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I had nothing to sing. My muscles tightened against my bones. I needed a song, quick. I clenched my hands together in front of me and thought of my mother and a song she sung quietly over the sound of the TV. Twelve years before, but I remembered it like it was yesterday. I wish I could remember the rest of her that clearly.

            _“I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even there”_ came out of my mouth. I sounded just like my mom. Maybe I was on that stage. But I knew it was me, and although I didn’t know his name, I knew who was listening closely in the box. _“I don’t know if you would listen to a gypsy’s prayer. Yes, I know I’m just an outcast…I shouldn’t speak to you. Yet when I see your face, I wonder…were you once an outcast too?”_ My heart was pumping out if my chest but I kept on. “ _God help the outcasts. Hungry from birth. Show them the mercy they don’t find on earth. The lost and forgotten. They look to you still. God help the outcasts…or nobody will.”_ I think I was crying but I didn’t stop until I was finished, then I realized the box was empty. He stood behind me, dressed in black, except for the mask covering half his face. Whiter than white. I slowly approached him and touched the part of his face that wasn’t covered. He didn’t flinch, maybe because I didn’t feel anything. “Who are you?” I whispered because I didn’t recognize anything but his voice, my hand wandering to his shoulder.

            _“I am your Angel of Music,”_ he crooned. _“Come to me, Angel of Music.”_ Just before he could kiss me, I woke up.

            Ezra was licking my face while Doris scratched at my boob. I sat up and rubbed my head. It was midnight. Auntie Tonya probably got home late and didn’t have the energy to let them out. “Gotta go out, babies?”

            They went running out my bedroom door. Yes, they did. Humming _God Help The Outcasts_ , I stumbled down the stairs, turned off the house alarm and opened the back door for my dogs. I went out as well and sat on the concrete stair, staring at the cloudy night sky.

            I’d never seen a sky full of stars. I’ve seen a few little white specks in the sky, like singular grains of salt on a black table in New Orleans when I was really young and New York, only some nights. I realized as I sat on the cold concrete that I had been to two states in my life. Louisiana and New York. My mom told me precisely a week before Katrina that she’d take me with her touring next summer, and she’d introduce me to all the biggest R&B folks and we’d eat fancy food and sleep at fancy hotels and get everything for free. We would have done this in many big cities. Later I learned about light pollution, and now I realized that the only stars I’d see there would be old black people. I cried.

            Ezra and Doris could be therapy dogs if they learned to control themselves around human food. They can sense human emotions and know precisely how to handle them. They ran to me, jumped on my knees and attacked my face with their little tongues, licking away the tears, followed by the odd feeling of hopelessness that really wasn’t like me. I laughed and petted their backs. “Good puppies, good dogs.” They backed off and I wiped their slobber off my cheeks with the sleeve of my T-shirt. I sighed and said to my dogs, “Done with the toilet?”

            They said yes and I knew it. I yawned. “Back to bed with ye.” They scurried inside first, then I went in. I closed the door and turned on the alarm again. The dogs followed me to my room and made themselves comfortable at the foot of my bed after I tucked myself back in.

            The man in the box seat kept singing, though.

            _I am your Angel of Music…come to me, Angel of Music…_


	12. Chapter 12

Erik

 

            Someone knocked on the door. I hoped it wasn’t a cast member. They were all supposed to be _on stage rehearsing_. “Who is it?” I called.

            “Uh, Mr. Y? It’s me, Nicole,” a familiar voice replied.           

            It was Thursday, seven o’clock. I neglected to call her. I sprung up from my chair and bolted to the door, but didn’t let her see me rush. I opened the door and said with a small but genuine smile, “Come in, my dear. I was about to call you.”

            There she was, in her regular baggy garb, holding a manila folder. She stepped in and said, “Well, this is a convenient shortcut to where my aunt works. I pick her up when she’s not on call. She hates driving. I thought I’d stop by and give you the headshots of the cast and crew.” She handed it to me and I opened it. There were many pages of Polaroids of teenagers making goofy faces. At the bottom of the pictures, there were their names and their roles. I remembered her speaking of a Lavon, and there he was, playing Louis Luna. She caught me looking at him and said, “Lavon is, like, my best buddy, but I promise you he nailed the audition and earned the part. Like, if Will.i.am and Pearl Bailey had a three-way with a gazelle, that’s how Lavon would be made.” I looked up at her and she blushed. “I’m very sorry…that was inappropriate.”

            Yes, it was, but it was funny. I smiled at her, “It’s all right.”

            She smiled back. “Good, good.” She yawned and covered her mouth. Then she grunted, “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while…gotta pick up Auntie Tonya and do a buttload of homework. I have to go. I’ll, uh, hear from you Tuesday, right?”           

            I discreetly had been entering her dreams all week, and she seemed to enjoy them but often woke up in the middle of things. I was still rather amazed she hadn’t identified me yet. “Sorry to hear that, Nicole.” I patted her shoulder but wished I could hold her in my arms and confess. “I’ll be in touch.”

            “Okay, bye,” she said. She left.

            I took the secret passage to my underground lair. All the candles remained lit. I took a long candelabrum to the table with my miniature stage. Earlier I had been refashioning an old figurine to look like Nicole. I cut off some of the hair and carved it to match her hair’s texture and painted her skin darker. All there was left to do was color her eyes brown and make her clothes baggy. Even in her dreams, she wore loose sweaters and baggy jeans. Was that all she owned? She was beautiful even in them, but I longed to see her without them.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Nikki

 

            Twelve students sat around the paint-splattered tables, waiting for Jim the art teacher, as apposed to Jim the middle school science teacher, to freakin’ open his mouth. I could have stood up and cheered when he did. “Now that you all know how to draw bodies and faces and stuff, and Chris Pfeiffer, don’t you dare contradict me because you have been on a roll,” Chris was a wannabe class clown but that was actually Colin, who comprehended _time and place_. “You’re gonna draw people. Portraits, scenes, cartoons, screw it, I don’t care. Just draw a person. No My Little Ponies, Brony Brian.” Everybody called Brian, who I identify as an art kid, Brony Brian because he was the most in-your-face brony anyone could know personally. He pouted. He must have legitimately hoped he could draw a real character as a damn pony. “Draw!” Jim commanded.           

            I opened my school-issued sketchbook to the first blank page and thought of a face. The first face I thought of belonged to the familiar stranger that had been haunting my dreams for days. The masked man. I drowned out the conversations going around me, the faint sound of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young in the background, even thoughts about the show until I was finished. I realized as I looked over my masterpiece I had written something in the upper right corner. _Mister Y=MYSTERY_.

            “Well, well, well, what have we here?” a legendary Brooklyn accent spoke from behind me. I jumped a little and turned to Jim, who loved sneaking up on people, even if they were drawing or painting. “What have we here? A masked Lothario?”

            Lotharios enjoy many lovers. I prayed that wasn’t the case. I don’t pray, not even when Auntie Tonya coerces me into going to her old Harlem church on Christmas and Easter. But I actually asked God to confirm he was monogamous because I…was really into him. _Love_ wasn’t a word I professed to understand. “Of sorts,” I murmured.

            “Mr. Y…who’s Mr. Y?” he asked.

            “Christ, Jim, you’ve lived in Brooklyn all your life and you’ve never seen Phantasma?” Max, who had a supporting role in the play, scoffed.

            “No,” he replied obtusely. I would have cracked up but I only chortled. I was so weirdly focused. “What the hell’s that?”

            “Leave him be, Max,” said Chloe, a full-on art kid whose twin sister Zoey, a full-on theater kid, was playing Nicole Bronwyn. She was also in this class, sitting next to Chloe. “He invented the term _art kid_. That’s why we art kids worship like a god. He doesn’t know the first thing about theater.”

            “He painted some props for _A Chorus Line_ ,” Max noted.

            “Set design isn’t _theater_. Just an important part,” Zoey said.

            “Wow, that makes me feel terrific,” Jim whined, but he couldn’t keep a straight face with that statement. Nothing could get past that dude. “So you know this guy?”

            “Uh…kinda seems like I’m very lucky to have as much as a somewhat casual conversation with him because he’s the lord of anonymity,” I breathed. “He wrote _Learning Lunacy_ , so he’s Barry’s hero.”

            “Lemme see that,” Chloe said. I showed her. She tilted her glasses lower on her nose and said, “Not bad. He really that hot?”

            “Yeah,” I chortled. “I mean, this is as hot as I could portray him, considering it’s from memory and I’ve dreamt of him more than I’ve actually seen him.”

            I had gotten the attention of the not-exclusively art kids, who were Max, Zoey, Blair who was a music kid and played five instruments, and Clark, who was the least stuck-up athlete kid in the school, which was also the world. Even Jim seemed interested. “Nikki…I think we need to have a girl talk,” Blair said.

            “How old is this dude?” Clark asked.

            “Erm, I dunno,” I replied. “I mean, Phantasma has been around for, like, more than a hundred years so he can’t be the first Mr. Y.” But he was something more than human.

            Max said, “Like…like Jim’s age, or Daryn’s age?” Daryn was the 28-year-old gym teacher.

            Jim slapped Max’s back a little angrily. “I’m ten years older than that guy. Someday _you’re_ gonna be that age.”

            “I don’t know, man. He doesn’t look old, but he is. Apparently my mom performed in Phantasma between her NYU days and when I was born and he knew her really well,” I said.

            “Oh my god, what if he’s your father?” Zoey exclaimed.

            “Drama queen,” Chloe, who was _so_ much of an art kid that she could focus on art and surrounding conversations, scoffed.

            “Shut up, we all know who my father is,” I muttered. “I mean, look at me, I’m a spitting image of him. I almost wish I look like my mom.”

            “ _Almost_?” Blair repeated.

            “Imani Lasalle was the hottest chick at NYU, mind you,” Jim said He went there, too. “But individuality is good. Yeah?” He patted my back.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

            “I think I want you to Xerox that so I can hang it up,” Jim said with a grin.

            Chloe looked up. “Ooh, Nikki, moving up in the world.” That was actually a compliment. I was half-theater and half-art kid. I was invited into music because I knew how to use a saxophone and drums but wasn’t really into it. It wasn’t very common to be a partial anything, and you had to lean to one side. I was leaning towards theater, therefore it was a big deal for the slightly biased Jim (who loved me anyway) to hang up one of my things. “Go make Xerox. Go make four.” He patted my back.

            “Sir, yes, sir,” I said with a smile.

           

            I walked down two halls to the office by the main entrance to the building. I was greeted by Doreen the secretary, who was good friends with my dad’s mother. I would have still been living with Grandma if she was emotionally stable after my dad was arrested. I was twelve and a half and already independent because neither of my parents spent a lot of time with me. I almost wanted to live by myself but then met Ezra and Doris and tasted Auntie Tonya’s coconut cake. Anyway, she said to me, “Well, hey there, Nikki. What brings you?”

            “Jim fell in love with my drawing and told me to make four copies,” I said. “But I know how to do them this time, so if you’ll excuse me—“

            “Nuh-uh, an opportunity to get my ass off this ol’ chair knocks, I reach out ‘n grab it.” She got up and took my sketchbook from me before I could even offer it to her. I followed her through the arch that led to the room that housed the great big copier, teacher mailboxes, student files and other stuff. She put my sketchbook somewhat carefully in the copier and as she pressed a few buttons said, “How’s your auntie Tonya?”

            “She’s good. Working a lot.”

            “Working? Home alone a lot?”

            “Her pugs make it impossible to be lonely. They’re love dogs.”

            She smiled. “That’s nice.” Four papers came out. She didn’t give them to me right away. She examined the one at the top first. “My, my, Nikki, this is really something. Who is it?”

            My muscles tightened and I shrugged. “Dunno. Just the reason I’ve been losing sleep.”

            She looked at me sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that.” She handed me the papers. “Feel better. Say hello to Tonya for me.”

            “Sure thing,” I replied with a friendly smile. “Thanks.”

           

            The moment Jim saw the copies and me, he grabbed one and hung it up on the wall within twenty seconds. I didn’t move a damn muscle. Once he was done, he said to me, “Now you’re gonna paint it.”

            I hate painting. “I hate painting, Jim. I always screw up the shades and stuff,” I said. “Plus, _how_ much time do we have?

            “Half an hour,” he replied. He patted my shoulder with his big calloused hand. It hurt for the moment. “You did this, you shaded it beautifully, you can paint it.”

            “I needeth thine assistance,” I whimpered.

            He took me to his desk and snatched one of the copies. He drew some lines on the face of my drawing where I shaded it in and in other places it needed to be shaded. “Paint over this right now. We’ll work from there.”

            I put the two remaining drawings carefully in my bag so not to crumple them. Jim had hung up the original copy and probably wouldn’t take it down because he was overly excited about it. I paid no attention to the hilarious conversation going around with the not exclusively art kids who didn’t feel the need to focus intently. I just sat on the stool, hunched over a little, and hummed one of the strangely beautiful songs I heard in my dream the night before. I finished within twenty-five minutes, and then we needed to clean up. “Hey, Jim, check it out.”

            Jim swept his way towards me and took a long good look at my painting. “That’s beautiful,” he said blankly. That was a super nice compliment.

            “Thanks,” I replied.

            “Clean up now,” he commanded. “You can put that on my desk to dry.” He walked away. I washed out the paint on the platter and put my painting onto his desk. The second I put it down, the end-of-the-day bell rang. “Leave,” Jim commanded. I went straight to Carol the middle school math teacher’s really big room where most rehearsals were held.

 

 

            I entered the room to find only three students and one Barry waiting. The students were sitting in the corner on their phones and Barry was tapping a riding crop on Carol’s desk that he propped his feet onto. “Barry, why do you have a riding crop?” I asked.

            “Intimidation purposes,” he replied apathetically. He stuck the leather flap under my chin, making me lift my head a little. “Have you been a good girl, Nicole?”

            “Yes,” I replied.

            He tapped it gently against my face. “Good, good.” He went back to tapping it against the desk. “It’s a good thing you’re a good girl.”

            The rest of the cast came in within three minutes—I counted. “We starting?” I asked Barry.  

            “Yeah, I guess,” he moaned. He stood up and clapped his hands loudly three times, which got everyone’s attention immediately. Tapping the crop against his other hand, he said, “Welcome to the second rehearsal, my children.”

            “Why do you have a riding crop?” Max asked.           

            He dropped the arm but not the hand that held the crop and put the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed. I rolled my eyes. “For intimidation purposes,” I breathed. I pressed my hands together and said, “Who has memorized the opening number that everyone is in?”

            Most people raised their hands, everyone else said mostly. “Well, let’s do it.”

            I stood by Barry at the upright piano and took out my phone to record the song and dance. Mr. Y was supposed to call tonight and I thought I might like to show it to him and ask him for notes because he wanted a part in directing, just from a distance. Barry made up the choreography as he went along and I agreed to it because I don’t really know how to choreograph, just to do as I’m told, which is how I survived _A Chorus Line_. Barry shouted directions as he played over the people singing so I didn’t get a very good video. Once they finished, I said, “Okay, now that our memories are refreshed, shall we do that again without the screaming homosexual in the background?” If I didn’t go to an alternative school, even if I were as tight with a teacher as I am with Barry, I would have gotten in so much trouble. Everyone laughed, even Barry. They did it one more time without Barry screaming and they did it fine. The second I tapped the record button to end the recording, I got a text from Tonya and it made a loud sound that made everyone stare at me. “Sorry, my aunt texted me.”

            Barry stood up and gave everyone the lowdown on the plans for today, which was to work on the first scene, as I read the text. _Babe don’t pick me up. Deshawn showed up for the first time in a month_. Deshawn was an ambulance driver/her romantic interest that danced in and out of her life. Now he was in.

            “For you all not on this or when you’re done, just sit in the back and do your homework,” Barry said. He then opened his script and said, “Okay, Nicole Bronwyn center stage, shopkeepers perimeter, go.”

           

            Really, it was a good second rehearsal and Barry, although he never got out of his riding crop-toting drama queen attitude, ended right on time. The second I got into my car, my phone rang. A blocked number was calling. Right on time.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Erik

 

            She sat on the chair I brought out especially for her, rummaging through her messenger bag to find the notes she took on tonight’s rehearsal. “Here they are,” she finally said. She slid them on my desk. “Overall, a good rehearsal. No distractions…except Barry was acting weird and my aunt texted me. Kids were behaving.” She produced her cell phone from her pocket. “I recorded the opening number for you to see, ‘cause you wanted to have a part in it and stuff.” She pressed a few areas and handed it to me. The critic in me that awakened, and he was upset. It wasn’t _the_ worst dancing I’d ever seen and I tried to be sympathetic because of their ages, but she gave me the opportunity to make a difference and I did. I took the liberty of not returning the phone before it ended. When it was done, I looked up at her and she said immediately, “How much do you hate it?” Could she really see right through me? She sighed and said, “Look, I don’t know anything about dancing. Like, the moves for _A Chorus Line_ were so basic that my pugs could do them. Barry…isn’t the king of choreography. Neither am I so…what do you propose we do?”

            I didn’t know either off the top of my head, but I could figure it out. “Would you give me the night to think about it?”

            “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Uh, I could upload it on my computer and email it to you so you can see it a few more times to refer.”

            I chortled. “That won’t be necessary.”

            She furrowed her eyebrows. “Excuse me, but you’re…amazing. Are you absolutely sure you can remember every screw up?”

            After all those years watching from the lofts above the stage at the Opera Populaire, I knew how to memorize things. Also because this was _my_ show, and I had seen it the way I liked it once before. “Yes, I am.”

            She nodded. “Good for you. To be honest, Mr. Y, I’m a little…weirded out by your mysteriousness. Like, it eats me a little and by the show I’m just going to be a bag of bones.”

            “When is the show? Did you say?” I asked.

            “The weekend before winter break,” she replied. “We get the last two weeks in December off, so yeah. That would be…” she muttered and counted with her fingers.

            “The week of December eighth?”

            “Yeah, like ten weeks. All the time in the world,” she said.

The Opera Populaire never spent more than a month rehearsing. Perhaps because it was a full-time job for the cast and crew. To compare these children to the professionals and _“professionals”_ would be inappropriate.

“You can call me tomorrow after three ten, or,” she said. “You can call me during lunch, but it has to be between twelve’oh’five and twelve fifty. Don’t want my phone ringing in English class. I’ll eat in Barry’s room and he’ll probably be happy to talk with you about the dancing.” She chortled. “If he doesn’t pass out by fangirling too much. He sees the show a lot.”

“Have you…told him much about me?” I asked, hoping she didn’t.

“Tempting, but no,” she replied. “Just doing what you told me to, and the school hasn’t burned down yet so I guess there won’t be a problem.”

I tried to summon a laugh with her but couldn’t. She didn’t seem to notice because she continued, “Anyway, if there’s nothing else you wanted to discuss, I should head home and let the dogs out…and do my math homework.”

There was nothing business related, so I had to let her go. Besides, I also had some work to do. She stood up, holding the strap to her messenger bag. The strap fell off and spilled papers and books and a binder. “Crap,” she grunted.

“Let me help you,” I said, rising from my chair. We put it all back in and when she stood up again, the seam ripped and more things poured out. Nicole groaned. “God damn it…I’ve had this since tenth grade but expected more from it.” She gathered all that she could carry and I took the rest. “I’ll bring these to your car for you,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile.

I followed her down the hallways to the parking lot behind the theater. She had a two-door car that wasn’t brand new but in good enough shape. She opened the passenger door and put the things she carried on the passenger seat and stepped back. “You can just put that stuff on top.” I did.

She closed the door and said, “Anyway, thanks for talking with me. I think this is gonna be a good partnership.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You’ll hear from me soon.”

“Good,” she said. “Bye.” She got in her car and I watched her drive away.

 

When I returned to the office, I found a sheet of paper under the chair she sat on. Something we must have missed. I picked it up and turned it over. It was a detailed drawing of my masked face. I looked at my transparent reflection from the glass covering a bookcase and back at the drawing. A spitting image, but somehow the drawing was better. In the right hand corner, I noticed when I looked a third time, she wrote _Mister Y=Mystery_. Was she onto me? Was she…interested in me? My thoughts debated so much that I couldn’t focus on going to my comfort zone through the secret passage. When I did get there, I immediately put the drawing in the Memory Box in case I needed it. Someone found me in the least bit attractive. It was a relishing thought I never dreamed possible.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Nikki

 

            A Ford sedan was parked outside my place and it was bouncing loudly. I immediately recognized the owner of the car by the bumper sticker that said in backwards letters _my other car is an ambulance_. Deshawn was making out with Auntie Tonya. It was actually kind of hilarious and cartoony. When I parked, I honked the horn and the car immediately stopped bouncing. Two silhouettes of heads rose. Tonya and Deshawn, all right. I gathered my scattered belongings and exited the car at the same time as Tonya. “How much did you see?” she asked.

            “Just a lot of bouncing,” I replied as I stepped onto the sidewalk. “Nothing scarring.”

            Deshawn rolled open the passenger window. “Tonya, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

            She smiled flirtatiously at him. “Okay, then.”

            “How’s it going, Nikki?” Deshawn asked.

            “Good,” I replied. “You?”

            He smirked. “Just fine. See you cats on the flip-flop.” He drove away.

            Tonya sighed dreamily as he left. She then turned to me and said, “Nikki, how old am I again?”

            “Like…forty two?” I suggested. I didn’t actually know.

            She sighed and walked up the stairs to the door, assuming I’d follow. I did. I felt like she needed to talk so I followed her into the kitchen and put my stuff down on the table as she let the dogs out. Once the screen door closed, she turned to me and said, “I love him but…it’s so inconvenient.”

            “What is?” I asked like an idiot.

            She didn’t mind. She really needed to process this, poor thing. “We care more about our jobs than anything else—well, of course I care about you, babe, we’re just job-focused people,” she said as she went about to heat up some macaroni and cheese because I nodded when she showed me the box. “So it makes no sense for us to get married and have a family. We won’t have time for kids or each other, unless for _some_ reason one of us quits, which neither of us are really too keen on. And we can’t even be in a steady relationship because our schedules are so wacked up.” She sighed. “But I love him.”

            I really didn’t know what to say to my poor aunt. I really didn’t know what love was. “Auntie Tonya, I don’t really know what love is so I’m not sure I can help you.”

            She sighed again. “Love ain’t something they teach in school, so I guess not.” She poured the macaroni into the boiling water and continued, “You sure you never had a secret boyfriend at Walker?”

            I scoffed. “Nope. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a boyfriend is Ezra.”

            Her neck swiftly turned to face me. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets and I laughed. “I’m not that much of a weirdo, Tonya!”

            “Let them in, won’t you?” she sighed. I got up and called Ezra and Doris inside. They immediately came scurrying in. Tonya went to fill their food and water bowls. She said as she did this, “There’s a difference between puppy love and human love. Puppies love you on the condition that you feed them…and that’s pretty much it. Right, babies?” They didn’t look up from their dinner. They just ate and wagged their tails. “Human love…it’s different. Whatever your momma and poppa gave you can’t be compared to this kind of love, though.” She smiled at me. “You’ll figure it out sometime.”

            I shrugged. “My parents loved me as much as they had to. They were both young people who didn’t have their priorities straight.”

            Tonya half-scoffed and half-chortled. “That’s a real gentle way of putting it.” Before I could say anything expressing confusion, she said, “Weren’t you in love with this senior for a while…David…Darryl?”

            “Oh, god, Dante,” I chortled. Dante was a senior when I came in sixth grade, and also Lavon’s second cousin. He was exclusively a music kid and taught me basic drumming, which is how we became very good friends but never lovers. He lived in the nicer part of Harlem, performing at bars and some small-time concerts and whenever we could Lavon and I would see him. “Yeah, for like three seconds. I was eleven, mind you, and he was _my_ age.”

            “He’s a cutie, though,” she said.

            “Last time I checked he had a hot jazz girlfriend,” I scoffed.

            The mac and cheese was ready. As she poured it evenly in solid color plastic bowls, she said, “Someday, Nikki, you’re gonna…you’re gonna meet a tall, dark stranger. And he’s gonna try to mug you. And a taller, darker stranger is gonna save you and he’ll be the one.”

            “That’s oddly specific,” I muttered.

            She shrugged and put a bowl with a spoon in it down at my place, then sat with her own. I said, “Really, Auntie Tonya, I don’t know _what_ I want to do. ‘Cause I fit in with the music, art and theater cliques…but do people survive like that? Doing that stuff forever?”

            “Only a lucky few,” she replied after swallowing. “Wanna try your luck or saddle yourself with something stupid?”

            I shrugged. “I have a lot to ponder.”

            “So do I,” she said.

            I scoffed. “Deshawn. That’s it.”

            “I know, I know, just trying to sound empathetic,” she responded.

            “Sympathy will do,” I said.

            She took a loud swallow and said, “Where were you again, after rehearsal?”

            “I had a meeting with the composer dude,” I replied.

            “You’ve, uh, been spending a lotta time with him,” she noted.

            “Not really,” I replied. “Sometimes I’m not sure if he exists, even though I’ve shaken hands with him.” He kissed my hand once. The thought made me swoon, but inside. “He asked to have a role in directing but from a distance and he’s not a total pain in the ass, just a little…amazing.”

            “As long as he don’t try anything funny,” she replied firmly.

            “Auntie Tonya, it sounded a moment ago like you thought I should be with a gentleman seven years older than I am,” I hissed jokingly.

            She rolled her eyes. “Do whatever you want. You’re seventeen. Just don’t get herpes.”

            “Is AIDS okay?”

            “No. We shouldn’t be joking about this,” she sighed. She crossed herself and we ate in peace, without speaking of romance or the future anymore.

 

 

            I only dreamt of unearthly and mysterious music that night but didn’t wake up in the middle of the night because of it or anything. I went to school on time like a good little girl, paid attention and did classwork because that’s how I maintained a scholarship after my mom’s trustee or something decided I shouldn’t go to private school when he never even spoke to me on the phone in ninth grade. I bought a nice chicken Caesar salad and banana for lunch and brought it up to Barry’s room for the in-between-rehearsal meetings he wanted to have as many Wednesdays as possible. His door was closed, so I knocked. “Who is it?” he sung.

            “French Revolution,” I called.

            “The hell?” he muttered. “Nikki, come on in.”

            The second my fingers grasped the doorknob, my phone rang. I went inside and hurriedly put my lunch and temporary backpack on a table and said before answering the blocked number, “Barry, it’s Mr. Y. He had some edits about the opening dance.”

            Barry’s eyes widened. “Well, what are you waiting for? Answer it! Put it on speaker! And hold my hand. I’m nervous!”

            I took his hand and put it on speaker, “Hey, Mr. Y? You’re on speaker with Barry Costello.”

            He nervously chuckled. “Hi. Big fan.”

            There was no sound but quiet breathing, but I could tell he didn’t want to be on speaker. He had no choice, though. “So, edits for the opening number?”

            He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

            “Barry—Barry’d understand them better than I would, so go on,” I said.

            He released my hand and got out a pencil and paper. Mr. Y, in a steadily businesslike fashion, told him politely but assertively what he thought and Barry accepted all of his constructive criticism and said, “Okay, thank you” every time he _paused_. Once Mr. Y was finished giving his critique, Barry said, “Mr. Y, you’re welcome to come at any time to watch rehearsal. I’m not sure if Nikki made that clear.”

            I gave him a dirty look because I told him I did.

            “She did, but for image reasons I would prefer to remain anonymous,” he said. I could sense a tiny bit of irritation in his voice. “You can, however, expect me at all the performances.”

            “Perfect!” Barry exclaimed, squeezing both my hands and shaking them. “I’ll reserve a front row center seat especially for you and whoever else you’d like to come.”

            “One will do,” he replied smoothly.

            “Okay, great. Uh, unless there’s anything further, Nikki and I have to continue our meeting.”

            “I won’t stop you,” he replied. “You’ll hear from me, Nicole.”

            “Good,” I said. “Bye.” I hung up.

            Barry sighed dreamily. “His voice is so sexy, oh my god. I should have gotten the rights myself and kept the experience from you.”  
             “Too bad,” I chortled.

            “Is he as sexy as his voice? Please say yes,” he exclaimed.

            “I drew him in art class but I left the Xeroxes at home,” I said. “One is up on Jim’s wall.”

            He got up without saying a word and I knew why. He’d be back. So I just sat and finished my salad.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Erik

 

            Nicole handed me her phone with a satisfied grin. “They did fine it on the first try but I recorded the second so it’d be perfect.”           

            And it was, as perfect gets. When it finished, I looked up at her and told her as I handed her back the phone, “Perfection achieved.”

            “Yay!” she exclaimed, raising her forearms before extending the left one to take her phone back. “The cast wasn’t all that excited about changing, but they’ll be glad you approve.” Before I could ask her if she even told them of me, she said, “And all Barry and I said was that there were gonna be changes. No questions, no problems.”

            I nodded once. “Good.”

            “We’re working on all the stuff the ensemble is in for the time being,” she explained. “Then Barry and I might split the work with smaller groups, see people Saturdays and…yeah.” She beamed. Her smile made me melt inside. “This progress is amazing, isn’t it? Hell, we might be done way before break.” Her phone vibrated suddenly, causing her to jolt. “Excuse me,” she murmured. I nodded to her and she read something. “Oh, god,” she chortled, smiling under the glow of the screen on her face.

            “What?” I asked out of legitimate curiosity.

            “My aunt is…being crazy,” she said. She put her phone back and said, “If there isn’t anything further, I need to get going and pick her up.”

            There was nothing else further, nothing else she came to discuss. I simply nodded and she got up, her new backpack slung over her shoulder. “Okay, see you later,” she said politely. She opened the door and as she walked out, Madame Quincy slithered in. In one of her chipped manicured hands, she held a cigarette and in the other, a note with my seal. She slammed the door behind her and hissed, “ _More mechanical than mortal?_ ”

            I rolled my eyes. “I spent about as much time thinking that up as you spent instructing those ballet _rats._ ”

            She slammed the note on the desk and put the cigarette out on top. “That’s what I think of your notes, _O-G_!” she spat.

            “Madame Quincy,” I addressed her firmly. “You are not the only strong-willed starving dancer in the country and you may find if you do not obey me that you are not the best.”

            “Obey you?” she hissed. “I quit! See you on the front page, _asswipe_!”

            I stood up before she could march out the door. “You will understand, then, why nobody in your position has ever quit before, then.” I reached into my coat. In seconds, she was dead by the same hand of her great-great-great-great uncle, Ulbaldo Piangi, with no regrets and no consequences.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Nikki

 

            My one fear as I sat between Barry and my aunt was that the hot dishes next to them would get horny in the middle of the show and start making out. Really, that was it. I wasn’t afraid of getting the spit of the actors on me because we were front row center. I wasn’t afraid of going home by myself because I could just go straight to bed because I had let the dogs out already. I was especially sure that Auntie Tonya’s strange prophecy wouldn’t come true. I was really happy to be at Phantasma again, seeing a supposedly new show. The chatter around the huge theater immediately stopped the moment the band started playing and the bright red velvet curtains drew to reveal three vaudeville-freak show-esque people introducing Mr. Y’s _Phantasma_. They weren’t as prominent last time I was there. I recognized the voices but not the appearances of the actors and dancers on stage because they all seemed so altered with the makeup and costumes.

            They sang new original songs and did new awesome dances with them and there wasn’t a critical eye amongst the dazed eyes surrounding to say anything bad about it. Even Barry and his partner and Tonya and Deshawn were too amazed to get bored and get horny and make out or something in front of their seventeen-year-old companion. The show went on until ten and I let Deshawn take Tonya to stay the night at his place and convinced Barry I could so much as make it to my car by myself. Looking back…should I have let Barry and his partner escort me? I haven’t the slightest idea.

           

            No stars, as usual. Just a heavy black sky, and some muffled music coming from who-knows-where. I parked at the edge of the cast parking lot near the stage door and walked along the building to my car. I didn’t see them coming, but they came. Two drunken dudes in coats and beards, laughing. Perhaps from the orchestra because I didn’t see them. I was about to make my merry little way past the other cars until they saw me and one shouted, “Hey, Mack, it’s a babe!”

            That was so ridiculous that I stopped and gave them a weird look rather than running, or even just ignoring them because I get this every time I go to Harlem to so much as visit my grandmother. “Hey, hey babe,” the other guy said as they approached me. “Wanna…wanna…uh, how did that thing go again?”

            “Dumbass, it went _nice shoes, wanna fuck_?”

            “Can…can I call you two inebriated gentlemen a cab?” I asked.

            They laughed and tried to hug me or something, but I managed to step back until I stepped against a car. Cornered. “Shit,” I whispered. Did I bring my pepper spray? As the inebriated men began to try to grasp me, I reached into my purse and grasped a bottle. Yes. The minute I pulled it out, though, I fell into the car I was leaning against. It was a van with an automatic fucking door. I hit my head and dropped the pepper spray, and my pants loosened a little. I was too hurt to fight back as the men apparently sober enough to do stuff started doing stuff. All I could do was awkwardly scream, loud enough for only one set of ears to hear. Before I knew it, the men had screamed and fell off me. I hit my head trying to sit up again and blacked out like a goddamn wimp.


	18. Chapter 18

Erik

 

            Her neck was limp against my arm, her body dead motionless as I carried her to my lair bridal-style. She was okay—I checked, but it was terrifying to see Nicole, my _angel_ Nicole, unconscious in my arms. Years ago, I would have been tempted to finally take her. Now I would not rest until she was on her feet.

            I brought her down to my lair underground within seconds and laid her gently on a maroon recliner. Once she was free from my grasp, she stirred. Her eyes still closed, she limply lifted her hand to sloppily rub her head. Some hair fell down her forehead and over her eyes. Between my fingers, I tucked it behind her ear. The back of my thumb brushed her forehead. Once I released, her eyes fluttered open and narrowed at the sight of me. “Mr. Y?” she muttered. She tried to sit up but fell back and grunted.

            I gently pressed her shoulders down and knelt beside her. “Rest, Nicole. You must have bumped your head on the car.”

            “Yeah, I did,” she breathed. She reached into her purse and rummaged without looking until she pulled out a white bottle. She pinched the cap to open it and two pink pills fell into the palm of her hand. She then put them in her mouth, swallowed and put the cap back on the bottle and put it back in her purse. She allowed herself to look around by moving her eyes only and then said, “Is this where you live?”

            “Yes,” I replied.

            “Are you, like, a hoarder or something?”                       

            What? “A what?”

            “A person who hoards stuff,” she said firmly. “Like The Little Mermaid.”

            I looked around as well. “I suppose I never had time to organize anything.”

            She giggled through her nose. “Okay, so you’re either a hoarder who’s getting better or a slob. Or both.” She cleared her throat. “What’s with all the candles?”

            “Electric lighting wasn’t installed everywhere by the time this place opened,” I told her. “We didn’t have the motivation to renovate its entirety.”

            “Fancy,” she breathed. She managed to sit up and look more by moving her neck. “Hmm, this isn’t that bad. Artistic. Compose a lot of…musicals and stuff in here?” She was looking at the pipe organ I brought from France.

            “Yes,” I muttered.

            She got up and looked around more, until her eyes stopped at the figurine stage. “Hey, this looks a lot like the stage…wherever the hell it is from here,” she said. I followed her as she approached it and picked up the completed figurine of her. “Aww, you have a little black one…who looks oddly like me.” She gently placed it back where it was and turned to face me. “Do you have something to tell me or something?”

            I did, and my opportunity was standing before me. She took a step and slipped on her shoelace. I caught her, perhaps inhumanly swiftly because she squawked and trembled in my arms again. She caught my eye and after only breathing, said, “I’m gonna unmask you now.”

            “No!” I exclaimed, jerking before she could reach out, almost dropping her. I put her on her feet and whispered, “That is one thing I’m not prepared to reveal.” I hadn’t even to Imani.

            “What’s your name?” she asked. She could sense my nervousness and took pity on me. She grasped my shoulder and sat me with her atop the coffin I slept in that was covered with a sheet and looked simply like a box covered in a sheet. “I’ll tell you my middle name, yeah? It’s—“

            “Denise,” I said. “I know.”

            I could smell her fear. “Pretty stereotypical, huh?”

            I was ready. “I wouldn’t know. I was born Erik Destler in Rouen, France.”

            She smiled. “Good start! I was born in Harlem—“

            “Christmas 1995,” I said. “I know.”

            Her hands clenched. “You knew my mom…so I bet. Now it’s your turn to tell me, because I do not know your mom.”

            She allowed me to take her hands between mine. “Nicole, I am about to tell you something you may not believe. I ask that you only listen and know that you’ll believe it in time.”

            She nodded. “Okay, then.”

            “I was born in Rouen, France…in the early 1830s.”

            The doubt in her eyes was maddening, but the hope in her voice was comforting. “Okay, I’m just going to sit here and see where you go from that.”


	19. Chapter 19

Nikki

 

            The more he opened himself up to me, the more vulnerable he became only for me, the more I realized why I let my dreams of him—they were of him, he confessed—haunt me all day. I wasn’t just intrigued and dazzled by him. I was in love with him. But I couldn’t be. It was so weird. He eventually got over his weird infatuation for some soprano back in Paris (in what’s now the Palais Garnier), Christine Daae, but…he was a friend of my mom’s. My mom was more in his league—talented, famous, older. I was just some black kid with her hands in her pockets. This was crazy. When he finished explaining the tale of Christine, how he started Phantasma and how it grew into some really cool empire and how he met my mother, he said, “And now I’m here, alone as ever, and I just spilled my secrets to a child.”

            A child? That’s how he thought of me? That was a little saddening. “I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. I’m not really a child, dude. I respect your privacy. I won’t tell anyone. Who is there to tell? No one.”

            He ignored me. He just stood up and staggered to a red curtain covering something. A mirror with a huge crack in the middle. He stared at himself, the uncovered part of his face expressing sadness and loneliness so strong that it was contagious. I stood up and went to the mirror with him. I touched his hand that held the wooden frame of the mirror. He turned his wrist and I let him hold it. I felt it enclose in the calluses that was his right hand. He was a musical genius, architect, magician and contractor and he did so many things with one set of hands. Centuries of work showed. If I could communicate feelings as strong and comforting as love through my skin cells, I guess he wouldn’t have said, “I’m a monster, Nicole.”           

            I slipped my hand out of his grip and touched the uncovered part of his face. He sighed and I felt wetness splash onto the side of my palm. He was crying, and I didn’t realize until I tasted my own tears that I was, too. “I love you,” I whispered.

            He stiffened. “What did you say?”

            I stepped in front of him, stood on my toes and lifted myself by holding onto his shoulders and kissed him.

 

            He was shocked at first and remained stiff, trembling a little at the same time. Eventually I tightened my grip on him and was off the ground, because he was holding me. Gently and soothingly he tangled his fingers in my hair as I took a breath through my nose and licked his lips. He opened his mouth a little and started to suck on my lower lip. He wasn’t crying anymore.

            Y’know, I never kissed a guy before. Ezra is a boy dog and licks my lips because they taste like food, but so does Doris. One time Lavon and I pretended to be a couple in front of some psycho hose beast who was in love with him, but all I did was call him _babycakes_ , hold his arm and lean my head on his shoulder. It was hard to keep a straight face doing that. Dante and I hugged all the time but even though I was tempted when I was a kid we never did anything else. And here I was, holding onto and being held by a 180-something-year-old zombie-ghost-thing, who whispered after catching his breath, “I love you, too.” He held me a little tighter. “From the moment you stepped into the office, I loved you.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” That was super weird.

            He was embarrassed and tensed. I chortled and kissed him briefly. “Cool.”

            The poor dude was so nervous but not reluctant. He kissed me again but not deeply enough for me. I held onto him and deepened it. Man, I was in love.

            I don’t know how the hell it happened, but somehow within seconds without opening my eyes or breaking the kiss, I was on a cushioned platform that wasn’t a bed but was comfy enough. We released each other’s lips and I realized my legs were spread and his hands were on my bent knees. “My angel,” he breathed. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I fear if I go on I may not have the ability to stop.”

            The lust in his eyes was more powerful than the reluctance. There was no denying him, whether I wasn’t up for it or not. Don’t worry, I was so totally into it and I wasn’t scared, reluctant or anything that even made me think too hard about it. “Do it,” I hissed, unzipping my hoodie and hurriedly throwing it on the floor.

            Never leaving my gaze, he threw off his black jacket as I kicked off my shoes somewhat hurriedly, because we were both crazy eager. Before I knew it, we were naked in each other’s arms, breathing heavily and perspiring with anticipation. “Ready?” he panted.

“Don’t hold back, go!” I exclaimed.

That’s how I lost my virginity.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik

 

            Nicole slept for the rest of the night like a rock. I was in and out of bed with her. After a few hours, she woke up by yawning loudly while I was about to join her. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to me and beamed. “Hey,” she breathed.

            With the back of my index finger I pushed some of her hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear. “Good morning, Nicole,” I said.

            She yawned again and peered down at all the sheets I placed over her. I was unable to redress her because she was so peaceful when she fell asleep moments after we finished, but it gets cold down in the lair at night. She smiled. “I don’t wanna get up now…but I gotta go and feed my dogs and do my homework…and get there before my aunt does so she doesn’t worry or anything.” Her hand rose to rub her forehead. “Clothes…where are…”

            I found her scattered clothes and folded them and put them beside the bed. I picked them up and put them by her side. She looked and chortled. “Wow, you’re amazing.”

            “I’ll let you change,” I told her, and went to find her bag which she dropped by the coffin. She was finished and on her feet the moment I picked it up. “Thanks,” she said, approaching me. She took her bag from me and paused. “How…how do I get out of here?”

            I led her as quickly as I could the short way out of the catacombs and out of the building to the parking lot. The stinging morning sun only made me flinch but made her screech, “Ow, fuck, that stupid…yellow thing in the…Earth ceiling.” She rubbed her eyes and when she opened them realized she was facing me. She said with an amusingly nervous smile, “Anyway, Erik, thanks for…the consensual sex.” Her face fell. “Really, if you need anything,” she continued firmly, placing her hand on my left upper arm. “Just call me or something.”

            I wouldn’t, but would she? I took her hand gently and said, “If _you_ need anything, _ma chère._ ” I pressed my lips against her fingertips. “Trust that I’ll know.”

            The poor thing tried desperately to hide the flush in her cheeks. “I shall,” she said. She finally smiled genuinely, not nervously or politely, and said, “See you later.” She practically danced her way to her car. My feelings were returned, for the first time in my existence.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Nikki

 

            So I went home, let out my dogs and fed them, let them back in and showered the smell of sex off my body. At ten o’clock, when I was dry and redressed, Auntie Tonya called. There was no trace of her return. I answered simply, “Hi, Auntie Tonya.”

            “Hey, look who’s awake on a Sunday morning,” she chuckled. “Wanna have tea with your grandmother?”

            Grandma lived in Harlem. “In Harlem? You’re in Harlem?” I asked.

            “Yeah. I took an early train to church but left a little early ‘cause I was underdressed and all the ladies with their hats from the fifties gave me dirty looks,” she sighed. “Ma—uh, Grandma, wasn’t awake so she didn’t go. I’m at her place right now. I wanted to have a little girl talk but I don’t have all my girls here, _soooo_.”

            Boy, I was in the mood for that. “I’ll be there…in as long as it takes,” I said.

            “M’kay, see you soon.”

            I hung up and went to my car.

 

 

            Grandma lived in the place all the white tourists thought was too dangerous for them, as white people, to step foot in. It wasn’t _the_ worst place in the city, but yes, it wasn’t the best. It was at least safe for them to drive by in the daytime. After my dad’s arrest, the neighbors in the beat-up exterior but not interior treated my grandmother and I with a new respect rather than shaming like we dreaded. We, at least Grandma and I, were already well-liked by the neighbors, especially the old man in the next apartment, Mr. Cornelius Rodgers who stood on his open porch and played the saxophone all the time. Nobody was bothered by it because he was _the_ best you could hear without paying. He taught me the basic skills before I moved to Brooklyn. And there he was, black and gray, on his porch with dusty old sax from the olden days when I got out of my car. “Hey, Mr. Rodgers,” I called over the smooth music when I was on the cracked sidewalk on my feet, hoping he could hear and/or see me. He was really old.

            The mouthpiece slid out of his mouth and said, “Well, well, well, if it ain’t Little Miss Nikki!” he said with a crooked yellow-toothed smile. He stuck his hand out from behind the porch and gave me a firm handshake. When he let go he said, “Here to see your grandma? Your aunt is in there, too.”

            “Yup,” I replied. “How’s life…as an old guy with a saxophone?”

            “Good, good,” he said. “How’s life as a young person with a car?”

            “Pretty awesome,” I giggled. “Doing big exciting things. I’m assistant director for the school play.”

            “Isn’t that grand?” he said genuinely.

            The door of the place next door opened. Grandma. “Nikki, who you talkin’ to out here in the cold?”

            “Mr. Rodgers,” I said, gesturing to him.

            She poked her head out the door and saw him. “Cornelius, you’ll catch your death!”

            “Nah, nah,” he said, shaking it off. “It’s just a little chill. Not like I ain’t used to it.”

            She just smiled at him and then turned to me. “C’mon in. Tea’s ready.”

            “Bye, Mr. Rodgers,” I said as I climbed the stairs to her house.

            “So long, Nikki.” He put the sax back in his mouth and played again.

           

Auntie Tonya was in the first room, the living room, reading Grandma’s TV guide. “C’mon, Tonya, tea time.”

“Mm, if Nikki’s old enough to drink I’d go for some wine and cheese,” Tonya sighed dreamily.

“Or if I liked plain ol’ cheese,” I said with a grimace as she got up. We went into the kitchen, where mugs and an assortment of teabags were set up. Grandma hobbled to the kettle but I told her to sit down so she wouldn’t spill and burn herself. She was getting weaker by the day, but amazingly was strong enough to live alone. I poured tea for three and put the kettle back on the stove. I sat down and picked peppermint, put it in with some sugar and stirred. “So I wanna talk about Deshawn.”

“Who?” Grandma said.

Tonya sighed and smiled. “I told you everything about him over the phone, Momma. Don’t tell me you don’t remember him. He was at the New Year’s party. _Remember_?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know who the hell you talkin’ ‘bout.”

Tonya rolled her eyes and said, “So we went to his place after the show, had some drinks,” Her lips tightened. “Had sex for the first time…in a long time.”

Grandma looked shocked. “In front of the child, girl?”  
“She’s seventeen. Ain’t like she hasn’t heard worse.”

I took a sip of the tea and recalled last evening. I’ve heard worse, I guess, on TV. But I knew what it was like personally now and had no regrets. I put my mug down and said, “Yeah. We have cable.”

Grandma smiled. “Kids these days.”

“She wouldn’t survive a day in your time, Momma,” Tonya said, pointing her index finger at me.

“You wouldn’t either with the Jim Crowe laws,” I scoffed.

“Girls, girls,” Grandma said. “It wasn’t a nice way to live, no, but we squeezed fun between the restrictions somehow. I mean, in the South it was worse. I praise God I didn’t have to suffer through _that_.”

Tonya pursed her lips and nodded. Grandma took a sip of her Earl Grey and said to me as she put it down, “You, Nikki. You seein’ any boys?”

“You know she’s never had so much as a fling at her school?” Tonya scoffed. “I mean, not to brag or pressure you, babe, but both me and your poppa were real in on the dating scene.”

“I never liked any of those kids you brought home,” Grandma scoffed. “Or your brother, for that matter. Obnoxious.”

“Things were different then,” Tonya sighed.

Things are different now. Tonya’s prophecy of a tall, dark stranger trying to attack me and being saved by a taller, darker stranger. Erik was white—literally—inhumanly pale, but he wasn’t really a human anyway, but he was tall and dark. Would that have been acceptable in Grandma or Tonya’s time? To bring home a white zombie who I had sex with strangely soon? I wasn’t quite prepared to tell Grandma and Tonya _I had sex last night with Mr. Y from Phantasma, who’s also a ghost-zombie thingy and we’re in love_. So I just shrugged and sipped my tea. I didn’t say much after that. It was entertaining enough to watch Grandma and Tonya go back and forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

Erik

 

            I spent the three days after the night Nicole spent with me finding a replacement for the late Madame Quincy. Surprisingly, nobody worried about her disappearance. I overheard a little gossip about her quitting in a rage and going to Italy to find herself. Eventually I found a new, politer choreographer who started immediately. Tuesday evening, I convinced myself it was appropriate to call my angel. I squeezed the receiver in my left hand against my ear so hard that any tighter it would break as it rung. After God knows how many rings, she answered, “Erik?”

            My back finally relaxed. “Hello, Nicole.”

            I could feel her smiling. “Hey. Rehearsal just ended. I’m, uh, heading to my car. We did really well. Worked on a couple of scenes, mostly. They’re learning their lines surprisingly fast. It’s amazing.

            “Good, good,” I said.

            “Yeah. I—“ She stopped abruptly. “Could, you, uh, excuse me for a sec?”

            “Of course,” I murmured.

            She must have put me on speaker because I heard her loud and clear exclaim, “Dante! Holy fuck, it’s Dante!”

            A quieter, perhaps distant male voice, said, “What’s up, Bobbye Hall?”

            “Damn it, Dante, it’s pronounced _Nikki Lasalle-Jones_ ,” she giggled.

            Another, more distant voice said, “Ah, I see he found you.”

            “I came to ask you a favor, Nikki. Can I take you to Joe’s?”

            “Sure!” Nicole’s voice replied. Who was this boy?

            “Okay, well, you’re gonna have to let go of me in order for me to drive there.”

            She groaned. “Just excuse me for a second.” Something beeped and she said to me, “Still there?”

            “Yes,” I replied.

            “Okay. Uh, my old buddy Dante showed up and asked me a favor…so I gotta go. You can, uh, call me back tomorrow afternoon if you have the time.”

            My hand tightened its grip on the receiver. “I might,” I breathed.

            “Okay, bye,” she said.

            As she hung up, I muttered, “I love you.”

            Days ago she told me the same, but now I wondered if it was in the heat of the moment.


	23. Chapter 23

Nikki

 

            Dante wasn’t as much of a regular at Joe’s as my friends and I were, so much that the staff didn’t recognize him when he and I entered, therefore had to supply us with one menu for him, but he knew what he wanted. BLT on rye and a Coke. Once Tammy took away the menu and went to the kitchen. I asked Dante when she was out of sight, “So what’s this favor you need from me?”

            “Bobbye Hall, I need you to do your Bobbye Hall thing on Saturday,” he said. Ever since I became proficient at drums, he started addressing me as Bobbye Hall. Bobbye Hall is the only black female drummer in, like, the world. Lavon thinks she’s the only female drummer ever besides me, but he’s crazy. “You see, I was planning to drum and lead sing for a gig at a restaurant in Manhattan Saturday night and my girlfriend was on guitar, but she got mad at me and dumped me and the band. So I can take over the guitar and still lead sing, but I need a drummer and a backup singer with the same gospel-slash-rock’n’roll-slash-R&B voice. You were the first and only person I thought of. So I’m asking you, Nicole Lasalle-Jones.” He cleared his throat, slid off the booth seat and knelt beside me. I smiled and held out my hands for him to take. “Will you be my drummer-backup singer person until we get a full-time replacement?”

            “Yes, Dante, yes!” I cried out, making the rest of the people at the restaurant stare. “A million times yes!” We hugged and he sat back down. Tammy came with our food and practically threw the dishes on the table, but at least in the right places. As we started to eat, Dante said, “So the lineup is, hold on—“ He took out his phone, pressed a few things and read to me as I ate, “Modern Love, Magic Carpet Ride, Surrender, The One I Love, Africa, Another One Bites The Dust, Paint It Black.”

            “I know all those songs,” I chortled.

            “Then you’ll wow the band on rehearsal Friday night. I have drums for you at Jake’s place outside Manhattan.”

            “So, what time is the shindig and where?”

            “Little John’s Bar, a few blocks under the Harlem border. Know it?”

            “Yeah, I pass by it when I go into Harlem to visit my grandma,” I replied. “Never been there.”

            “It’s not all that classy, but it’s a big deal for us,” he said.

            “What’s your band called again? Last time I saw you, you and five other guys were doing jazz—“

            “Yeah, and that’s how I met Michelle,” he said with a grimace at the woman’s name. “Band broke up, wasn’t going anywhere, then me and Michelle joined an experimental cover band in the summer, Wayward Kingdom.”

            I was in mid-sip when he said the name of the band and a little water came out of my nose. “No offense, Dante, but what the _hell_ kind of name is that?”

            “None taken. I didn’t make it up. A generator on the Interweb did,” he giggled.

            “I mean, there are weirder names…just something about it is weird. I can’t put my finger on it,” I giggled.

            “Understood. I just hope you’ll wear the present I got you because you’ve taken the job,” he said. He reached into his backpack and took out a sloppily folded black shirt and handed it to me. I unraveled it. The shirt read _WAYWARD KINGDOM_ boldly in white over a castle that looked like it was drawn by a five-year-old who was on an acid trip. “Love it,” I said, taking off my jacket so I could slide it over my sweater.

            “Anyhoo, Miss _Lasalle-Jones_ ,” Dante said when I resumed eating. “How are you?”

            I told Dante _all_ about my big, exciting senior year, about _Learning Lunacy_ , about Auntie Tonya and Deshawn, but nothing about the zombie-ghost thing I had sex with a few days prior. But believe me, I wanted to. It wasn’t something I could really keep a secret for very long. It was huge! But I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone the details, and I loved him so I really couldn’t break a promise. But what was he? I wondered as I blabbered. My friend with benefits? My lover? My boyfriend?

 

 

            Dante supplied me with a flyer with the info to put around school when we parted. Before doing what little homework I _had_ to do that night, I wrote on top of it _Alum Dante’s band. Nikki J-L is also performing!_ By the time I finished my homework, Auntie Tonya stumbled in the house and went immediately to bed, claiming she already ate and would shower at five A.M. I went to bed after she told me that, and dreamed of Erik again.

           

            I was sitting in a moonlit room, wearing my fleece pajama pants and the shirt Dante gave me. I knew it was a dream because I didn’t feel heat or cold, and it was a lucid dream because I stopped murmuring “What’s going o—“ because I knew.

            “ _Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph?”_ someone sang angrily.

            I thought I knew who. “Erik? Is that you?” I got no reply, and somehow I knew it was him. He always sent weird vivid dreams, unlike the colorful and random ones that I’ve had since I was a baby. “Dude, he’s almost twenty-five. Yes, he’s recently single, and _yes_ , I used to have a crush on him. But that was when I was _eleven_. I was a _baby_ back then. I still wore beads with cornrows back then. I’m seventeen now, and if, for _some_ reason he wants me, I’ll tell him the truth—I’m in love with someone else.

            There was a pregnant pause. “Who?” the voice asked with obvious nervousness.

            “You, dumbass!” I laughed. “But I’m not going to dream about you. I’m gonna wake up and come to ya, _Angel of Music_.” All I had to do was pinch myself, and I woke up in my bed, still pinching myself. It was three A.M. I hurriedly put on jeans, a bra under my T-shirt and a hoodie over it. Then I slipped on my shoes, picked up my backpack, wallet and phone, and snuck out to my car. I paid close attention as he led me out that weekend, so I knew where to go.


	24. Chapter 24

Erik

 

            She was coming. I didn’t know how she escaped the dream, how she gained a state of mind. Somehow I knew she was coming and she knew how to get to me in my lair. I made sure all the death chambers and booby traps protecting me from intruders were disabled, just to be safe. What seemed like seconds later, I heard footsteps approaching. They sounded unusually eager. Quite obviously, it was Nicole, shabbily dressed and radiant as ever. What was there to say to her? “Welcome back, my dear,” I somehow uttered.           

            She smiled at me, just like Imani would. “Good to be back.” She caught me staring at her as she approached me. “Something…something wrong?”

            “No, it’s nothing,” I said as she sat on the closed coffin, beckoning for me to join her. My hands clenched. “It’s just…you look so much like Imani right now.”

            Her face fell, but she still looked like her. “Did you and her…ever…”

            I took her hands inside mine. “No! Never!” I cried.

            “Okay,” she muttered awkwardly.

            I sensed doubt, or perhaps needed to assure her. “Nicole, there is only you. I swear on my rotting soul that she was simply a friend,” I insisted.

            “All right, all right, I believe you. It was a yes or no question, jeez,” she giggled. She then sighed and continued, scooting closer to me and letting me wrap my arms around her, “Y’know, I wonder what she’d think, of…whatever we are. Like, if she’d be cool with it or…or freak out, kill you and put me in a chastity belt or something.”

            I chortled. “I’m not sure either.”

            “My dad would either slit your throat or be too high to give a crap,” she scoffed. “I’ve been really good keeping all your secrets, by the way. Resisting temptation and stuff.”

            I knew about the drawing but trusted her too much to call her on it. I kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Thank you.”

            “Even from Dante,” she scoffed.

            “Who is he, precisely?” I asked.

            She groaned. “My friend who graduated the year I came to Walker. He taught me to play the drums and is the king of hugging. That’s it. Yes, I was in love with him for a few days, but for Christ’s sake, that was six years ago. Now I’m in love with a much older man who’s…a zombie ghost thingy.”

            I chortled. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

            “Good, because that’s what’cha get,” she replied. “Look, you should come to the gig. Little John’s Bar in Manhattan. It’s not in the classiest place in the world, but I’ll be there. Saturday night at seven.”

            I’d fight an army of a thousand men to see her perform half a song. I’d do anything. Luckily, all I had to do was go there. “I’ll be there,” I said.

            “Yay!” she chirped. She then threw her arms around me and kissed me lips, catching me by surprise. It didn’t take long for me to relax in her arms and advance the kiss. The world stopped turning for us, until she ran out of breath and my lips had to release hers. She rested her head on my chest and sighed, “I love you.”

            My hand wandered up to her face, pushed some hair away and stroked the soft skin of her cheek. “I love you, too.”

            She fell asleep. It was impossible for me to move and disturb her.


	25. Chapter 25

Nikki

           

            I woke up to the shrill sound of my phone alarm at six thirty sharp. However, I wasn’t in my bed in my house. Compared to where I was, my room was hell. I was in Erik’s arms, my head on his shoulder. He slowly awoke and murmured, “What _is_ that?”

            “My alarm,” I said, reaching into my hoodie and turning it off. “I gotta go to school.”

            As I slipped it back into the pocked, he tightened his grip on me. “I wish I never had to let you go,” he breathed.

            “Don’t get me started,” I sighed. I groaned and continued, wriggling out of his grip and sitting up, “I gotta get there early though, to post around the flyers.”

            He sat up and kissed me one more time. Believe me, If I could have missed school that day, I wouldn’t have let go. At the same time, we stood up and he said, “I’ll walk you out.”

            “Thanks,” I said.

            We walked out side by side outside, to find the sky cloudy and gray, pouring rain. It was ridiculously cold, too. He noticed me shiver and took off his fancy Victorian-style jacket. He draped it around my shoulders and I put my arms in the sleeves. They were a little long, but would look all right rolled inside. “Thanks,” I said with a smile and possibly blushing. “Are you, uh, gonna need this back? ‘Cause it’s awesome.”

            “It’s yours,” he said.

            I kissed him one more time, holding the jacket closed. Once we were done, I said, “See you Saturday, I guess.” And ran to my car.

 

 

            I got some Starbucks before school and arrived about fifteen minutes early, early enough to Xerox the flyers and hang them around. Doreen was at her desk as usual, typing. She saw me and said, “Gee, Nikki, here so early?”

            “Yeah. I woke up early so I could Xerox and hang up some flyers for a gig at Little John’s Bar on Saturday. Remember Dante? I’m playing drums for him.”

            “Well, that’s nice,” she said. “What time? I could go.”

            “Seven,” I said with a smile.

            “I’ll be there,” she said.

 

            I made more than enough copies and hung one in every hallway. When I was finished, it was time for class and I went.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Erik

 

            Saturday came miraculously quickly. I arrived at the restaurant in Manhattan fairly early so I could find a place well concealed but not far from the stage. I watched five young men, three black and two white, set up the stage and tune their instruments as excited adults and teenagers, some of which I recognized from the folder of headshots Nicole gave me. She was nowhere to be seen until seven o’clock sharp. She came seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers. An unusual amount of cleavage came through the shirt. I didn’t think she would be so comfortable so exposed. She was beautiful. She sat down behind the metallic blue drumset and produced sticks. She tapped the drums a few times under the sound of the two guitars, bass, saxophone and keyboard. After a minute or two, one of the young men with a red electric guitar approached the microphone and said, “Evening, everybody. We’re Wayward Kingdom.”

            The teenagers, mixed with a few adults, had gathered directly across the stage and roared, shouting, “ _Yeah, Dante!_ ” and “ _Yeah, Nikki!”_ Nicole flashed a smile as the frontman started strumming the guitar. Nicole then joined on the drums, followed by the keyboards. The frontman said in the microphone, “I know when to go out. Know when to stay in. Get things done.”

            The frontman sang the verse and Nicole harmonized. I couldn’t hear the other band members sing. It was she, and only she. Everything she did was right, and the teenagers agreed. She sang with the band for four songs, never alone, until the band stopped for a moment to wipe off their sweat and drink from water bottles. The frontman, after emptying his water bottle, said, “As a tribute to her mother, New Orleans R’n’B queen Imani Lasalle, our substitute drummer, Nikki Lasalle-Jones, everybody!”

            The teenagers and some of the adults screamed for her and she laughed. The keyboardist played along with her on the drums something terribly familiar. I finally heard my angel of music sing alone and in person, but everywhere else was Imani, singing, _“Last night I had the strangest dream. I sailed away to China in a little rowboat to find ya, and you said you had to get your laundry cleaned. Didn’t want no one to hold you, what does that mean? And you said,”_ The band joined in, _“Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride. Nobody’s gonna slow me down, oh no, I’ve got to keep on movin’! Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride, I’m running and I won’t touch ground. Oh no, I’ve got to keep on movin’!”_

            This song was Imani’s first cover hit. I couldn’t bear even the original version or any other after hearing it. No surprise, I was dazed by her version. I wouldn’t change a thing about it. The song ended and her supporters roared for her, but she didn’t look at them. She caught my eye somehow, and I nodded at her as I applauded with everyone else. That was what brought a smile to her sweet lips and she turned her attention to the rest of the crowd.

           

            She sang backup for the rest of the night, except for the second to last one she had a few solos. She was perfect, as expected. It was nine o’clock when it ended and the next band was to come on. The frontman concluded gleefully after the last song, “Thanks for coming, everyone. Good night, we love you.”

            The entire place roared, even me. The male members of the band left with their instruments as Nicole went to greet the commoners. I pulled a single rose from my other jacket and left to put it in her car.


	27. Chapter 27

Nikki

 

            The entire cast of _Learning Lunacy_ including Nora and Lavon, Barry, Jim the art teacher, Doreen, Auntie Tonya, Deshawn, even my grandmother had shown up and they all had crazy nice things to say to me. They clobbered me, but eventually wound down and started to leave. Tonya had to take Grandma back home and would be staying the night with Deshawn because I gave her my blessing and a wink. I was getting rather tired and couldn’t find Dante or the band anywhere, so I decided to turn in, go to my car and text Dante when I got home. But I found them loading the van next to my car with the instruments. Dante saw me and said, “Hey, Nikki, great job.”

            “Yeah, you kicked ass,” Jake the other guitarist agreed.

            “Thanks, guys,” I said with an abnormally huge smile on my face. “Need any help?”

            “Nope, just put in the last amp,” Sam the keyboardist said from inside the van.

            “Bring it here,” Dante commanded, spreading his arms. I expected no more than one of his infamous hugs. He started the hug but before I could lean my chin on his shoulder, he smashed his lips against mine and threw me onto the floor of the van while the band members laughed and watched. It was not a good kiss, not only because it was unexpected and I was in love with someone else, but…it was just gross. I struggled to pull him off me, but he was too strong. He ran out of breath and said, “Why are you struggling, Nik? Aren’t you still into me.”

            I grunted, still trying to pry him off me, “I have a boyfriend.”

            “Oh, shit,” Geo the bassist exclaimed.

            Dante got off me and I slowly got off the van. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

            I sighed and fixed my hair with my fingers. “Feel lucky. You’re the first to know.”

            “Who?” he asked suspiciously.

            I sighed. “I can’t tell you. Just…leave me alone for a little, Dante.”

I unlocked my car, but he grabbed my wrist before I could pull the handle. He turned me towards him and said, his eyes spitting fire into my face. “What’s he got that I don’t?”

“Nothing, you’re almost equals,” I said. “Dante, if you can’t respect that he came first…” I felt my wrist crack. “Please let go of my wrist.”

“Yeah, Dante, this isn’t cool,” Jake said.

“Quiet!” Dante snapped. Yeah, this wasn’t my old friend. This was a scary monster and I was pee-your-pants scared. I didn’t, though. “Nikki, I’ve always thought you were…just perfect for me. Just…the age difference—“

“Still applies,” I said. Even though my “boyfriend” was actually some hundred years older than me. “Dante, let me go.”

He shook his head and tightened his grip on my wrist, if that was possible. I whimpered from the pain. “I…don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” he said.

I had to. I lifted my knee and kicked him in the nuts. Before he fell to the floor, he punched me in the face. I squawked and hurried into my car. I pulled out a little too fast, but no matter. I noticed through the mirror I had a black eye forming and there was a sharp pain in my wrist, but I didn’t go to the hospital or the cops. I went to the Phantasma place to see my boyfriend. When I pulled in the parking lot, I finally noticed a rose sitting on the dashboard. How it got there, I didn’t know, but who put it, I knew.


	28. Chapter 28

Erik

 

            I had been playing _Break My Stride_ for a few minutes on the pipe organ but was interrupted by an echo of a sob. Someone was crying, whoever it was came closer and closer. The only one beside myself who knew the way to my lair, however, was Nicole. And there she was, wearing the jacket I gave her over what she wore to the show. She was holding her right wrist with her left hand and crying out of only her right eye because her left was swollen. “Nicole,” I muttered, running towards her. She threw herself into my arms and sobbed on my shoulder. I held her tight enough to not hurt her but secure her and whispered, “What happened to you?”

            She started to breathe properly and replied between quick breaths, “Dante…tried to attack me.”

            I knew he was trouble, but I wouldn’t gloat before my poor angel. I practically carried her to the pile of cushions and laid her down in a position that I hoped was comfortable enough. She pulled me down with her and clung onto me. I held the back of her head in my hand and pushed her head closer to mine. I kissed her forehead repeatedly, trying to soothe her, which didn’t hurt or help. Time was the best medicine. Her sobs and tears became shaky audible breaths until she spoke. “I told him I have a boyfriend in an attempt to get him off my back. Nothing else. I won’t tell anyone else.”

            “Thank you,” I said before kissing her hairline.

She sighed and I felt her muscles melt against me. “I love you,” she said. “And I’m really sorry I was wrong about him. Dante. Even when I was in love with him when I was eleven, he had a girlfriend, Jenna. She went to college in California, though, so they broke up. He _always_ had a girlfriend. I didn’t know how much of a monster he could be without one.”

“I wouldn’t regard that as _monstrous_ behavior,” I said. “Remember, Nicole, I am the monster.” It nearly killed me to say this, but I had to give her freedom to prevent her from resenting me like Christine. “You aren’t stuck with me.”           

She just laughed, loudly and for an oddly long time. Once she calmed down, she said, “Dude, I had sex with you. I don’t care that I’m not stuck with you. Whatever it is, _you’re_ stuck with _me_. I told you and I mean it, Erik,” She brought her left hand to trace the exposed side of my face. “I love you,” she breathed. She pulled herself to my lips and kissed me so hard that my mask slipped off. Before she could see me, I stood up and turned my back to her, covering the vulnerable side of my face. “No, Nicole, no,” I whimpered. “I _am_ a monster.”

“If I gave a shit, I wouldn’t have done any of the things I’ve done with you,” she riposted. I turned my head a little to the left to watch her pick up the fallen mask with her right hand, but she whimpered in pain. “I think he twisted it a teeny bit,” she whispered to herself, picking it up with her left hand. She held it out to me, having noticed I was looking. I went to her and took the mask and put it back on my face. Before I turned back, she said, “You don’t suck any more than the average human, monster or not.”

Her black eye was terrifyingly swollen. “I think you could use some ice for your eye.”

She nodded in agreement. “Got any?”  
            I retrieved a clean rag from across the room and stuck it in the cold water of the river, one of many ways to get into the lair that I stopped using long ago because it reminded me too much of the Opera Populaire. I squeezed the excess water out and approached Nicole. I bent beside her and pressed the rag on her swollen eye. She whimpered when it touched her but soon relaxed. I made myself comfortable at her side to hold the rag in place and said, “You were amazing tonight.”

“At the gig?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied genuinely. “Just when I thought only Imani could sing _Break My Stride_.”

She smiled. “Maybe it runs in the family.” Her phone rang. With her good hand, she took it out of her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. It wasn’t blocked, but not listed as a contact. She tapped a green symbol and put it to her ear. “H-hello?”

I could hear a male voice say, _“Hey, Nikki, it’s Dante.”_

She stiffened everything but her mouth and muttered nervously, “I told you not to talk to me for a while.”

“ _Well, it’s been an hour and I couldn’t stay away_ ,” Dante replied.

Nicole trembled. I held out my hand to her, silently requesting the phone. She put it right in my hand. I put it to my ear and said, “Dante, right?”

“Yeah, who’s this?” he replied.

“Take a wild guess,” I snarled. Nicole beamed.

I could feel Dante grow tense. “You’re…the boyfriend.”

            “Correct,” I replied. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

            “Huh?”

            I scowled as if he were right in front of me. “She has a black eye and her wrist still hurts.”

            “Well, I’m not saying she deserves if for not hearing me out, but what else was I supposed to do?” he scoffed.

            Nicole groaned, having heard this. I said to Dante, “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps respect her wishes and leave her alone?”

            “Hey, I spent years and years struggling to find my voice, and now that I got it, I should be worshipped.”

            “What the fuck?!” Nicole shouted. She got up and walked across the room muttering about how she couldn’t hear this. I said to Dante, “You’ve upset her. I strongly suggest keeping away from her until further notice. If you, for some reason, come across her by chance, _keep your hand at the level of your eyes_.”

            “Uh, why?” Dante asked.

            “You’ll find out if you don’t. Good night.” I hung up and placed the phone down, then stood to see Nicole staring at her reflection in one of the uncovered smashed mirrors, poking her black eye. I approached her and enfolded her in my arms. She leaned back and began to cry. I kissed the back of her head, the side of her neck. “He will not harm you,” I whispered to her before kissing her ear.

            “He was my friend,” she muttered between two soft sobs. “What the hell happened?”

            “I don’t know, my angel,” I replied. “But I’m here.”

            Her quiet sobs halted and she smiled. She turned around, still in my grip, smashed her lips against mine and said once she was out of breath, “Cool.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

Nikki

 

            I woke up cradled in a sleeping Erik’s grip, my head against his bare chest. I realized when my legs shifted that we were both not wearing clothes under the red velvet sheet that somehow found its way over us. I yawned and his eyes opened. “Oh, sorry, I woke you,” I said.

            He exhaled, stroking my messed up hair back and said, “It’s all right. I should be preparing for the morning show.” He examined my eye, I realized because he said, “Your eye looks better. How is your wrist feeling?”

            I flexed it. “No pain.” I sat up, not caring that my chest was exposed, but shivered. “Shit, it’s cold in here.”

            He sat up as well and wrapped his arm around me again. I melted in his grip and sighed, “For a ghost-zombie-dead person thing, you’re awful warm.”

            He chortled and pressed his lips against the back of my neck, sending a wave of pleasure down my spine. “I…don’t wanna go,” I moaned.

            “Then stay,” he said before kissing the side of my neck.           

            “I…can’t,” I grunted. “My dogs…my aunt…homework.”

            He sighed and said so solemnly a piece of my heart seemed to physically chip off like it was porcelain, “Then you must go.”

            “Damn it, Erik, don’t make it seem like it’ll be forever,” I hissed, turning around and holding his bare shoulders. I pushed him against the cushions and rested against him again. “It’s not. But when you talk like that, I die a little.” He chortled. I sat up a little so he could see the dirty look I was giving him. “Shut up. It’s not funny.”

            “One does not _die a little_ , Nicole,” he said.

            “Too bad. I just did,” I laughed before kissing his lips for a second. I then got up and put on my clothes. He did the same. Without another word, he walked me to my car. I slid my hand into my pocket for the keys and noticed the rose still sitting on the dashboard. “Oh, and thanks for the rose,” I said with a girlishly nervous smile. The same one I made before we were boyfriend-girlfriend or something when he was kind of sort of flirting with me.

            He didn’t need words. He just kissed me again. I wanted nothing more than to cling onto him like a sloth and fornicate, but I had stupid teenager things to do. I couldn’t even look him in the eye and utter _bye_. I just got into the car and left.

 

            I got home long before Auntie Tonya. I took care of the dogs, did my homework and treated my eye. I was making myself a sandwich when she came in, wearing a man’s jeans and T-shirt and holding the dress she wore in her left hand, her purse in her right. I didn’t hear a hello before she saw my black eye. “Sweet Jesus, honey, what happened to your eye?”

            I had been giving it a break from the compresses. There were a million things I could say to her, but only one truth. She deserved the truth, I just didn’t need to tell her _everything_. “Dante…tried to attack me.”

            She dropped the things in her hands and said, “Dante. Your friend Dante.”

            “Not anymore, he ain’t,” I said casually, resuming the sandwich making. “I did what I was supposed to do to heal it. Now we just gotta wait.”

            “W-what did he do it for, though?” she said.

            “It turns out he has the hots for me or something, and because I don’t, he…flipped. I’m okay. He just tried to make out with me and when I refused went physically nuts but I got away just in time,” I explained.

            “So that explains the hickey,” she said.

            I froze. I then noticed through my reflection on a knife that I had a mark on the side of my neck. Silently, I thanked the God I didn’t really believe in that it wasn’t Dante who put it there. But the embarrassment drowned out the pride. “Yes, it does,” I said, gripping the knife and cutting the sandwich in half. I put the knife in the dishwasher and then picked up one half of the sandwich. I picked it up and took a birdlike bite, struggling to make eye contact with my aunt.

            “Did you call the police?” she said. “Battery and attempted rape is a crime.”

            “It…didn’t cross my mind,” I said. Then I remembered those two drunk guys that Erik saved me from. He claimed he took care of them and that’s it. If I were legit mad at Dante, I would have called the cops. I wasn’t mad at Dante. Just a little sickened and I wanted to put it behind me. “I told him to stay away from me.”

            She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Babe, that may or may not be good enough. I’m gonna email the principal and warn him.”

            When she used that tone and wagged her left hand like that, I knew there was absolutely no stopping her. It wasn’t a bad idea, anyway. Before she went to the computer, she said to me, “Keep treating the eye right, tomorrow I’ll slop on some concealer.” With that, she left.

 


	30. Chapter 30

Erik

 

            Nicole and I found ourselves so busy with our commitments that in the next two weeks, before Thanksgiving, we didn’t find the time to share anything but progress reports on _Learning Lunacy._ I also had much to do with the cast of Phantasma. The new choreographer lacked Madame Quincy’s fast inspiration, but she was obedient. It was a Friday night, that she claimed was the start of her week-long Thanksgiving vacation, that Nicole and two familiar young faces came to the show. I identified them from memory of the headshots and her ramblings about this young man and woman as Nora and Lavon. She brought her friends. As I watched from Box Five, I prayed she didn’t tell them anything about us. Then I recalled I hadn’t touched her in two weeks. I was strangely paranoid that she had forgotten me. Throughout the opening number, my thoughts battled against one another until I realized she wasn’t watching the new show. She was looking at me. Her friends weren’t, so the battle in my head concluded under the notion that our secret was safe.

            When the show ended, the three of them stayed behind and discussed. I hid in a space between the seats and the orchestra pit to hear them. A female voice that didn’t sound like Nicole and therefore was Nora was, “Okay, no offense to whoever the hell Mr. Y is, but that was tacky.”

            “Oh, come _on_ , Nora, do you have no taste?” Nicole half-laughed and half-scolded. “That was magic and you know it!”

            “Yeah, Nora, c’mon,” a male voice I recognized from some recordings Nicole sent me said. Lavon. “Are you just jell you can’t dance like in the opening act?”

            “Yes, Lavon, I’m _jell_ ,” Nora scoffed. “You know this guy, Nikki. Take me down to wherever he is so I can give him a piece of my mind.”

            Nicole paused. I didn’t need to see her face to identify her nervousness. “Would that I could, Nora, but we’re really just business partners on the phone. I’ve only seen him, like, five times.”

            I stifled a laugh.

“In the same place?” Nora asked.

“Mhmm. But all by chance, really.”

“Well, c’mon, then. Let’s see if chance is on our side,” Nora hissed. I heard her feet aggressively hit the floor, but no others.

“No, Nora, we shouldn’t. We’re not invited, therefore it’s trespassing.”

“Nora has a point, Nik,” Lavon said. “You kinda act weird when you talk about him. Mr. Y.”

“He’s…a weird thing to talk about,” she said. “Mind you, I’m no weirder than you were when you pushed for us to do _Dancing Through Life_ sophomore year.”

“I’m a natural Fiyero. Shut up,” he said.

“She’s right. You were crazy,” Nora said. “Nikki, my dad sent me this text and it’s in Russian. What does it say?”

There was a pause and then she said, “Come home. He wants you to come home. ‘Cause it’s late. We have no time to harass anyone. Lavon, I’ll escort you home.”

They all got up, I heard from their feet hitting the floor, and the last thing I heard was Nora ask, “By the way, where’d you get that jacket? I love it.”

“Oh, um, thrift store,” Nicole replied.

 

 

Less than an hour later, I heard footsteps come through the passage leading to my lair that Nicole used. And there she was. “Do you come alone?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I knew you’d hear all that,” she said. “Yes, I’m alone. You owe me big for stalling her. That text didn’t even say _come home_. It was for her mom. Nora’s dad doesn’t understand technology.” She plopped herself on the pile of cushions beside me and let out a heavy sigh. “Not a free moment in two weeks, but I feel like it’s been months.”

“I know,” I breathed, wrapping an arm around her.

“Things have been really crazy, y’know? But we have everything. Costumes, lines, set, musicians. To everyone’s surprise, I’m not falling behind on anything. Today the college counselor talked to me about coming in only a few times a week for college apps starting after winter break.” She beamed. “Everything’s going fine. Why do I feel like I’m dying?”

“What? What’s wrong?” I asked.

She sighed. “I’m hungry all the time and my boobs…like, hurt. Do I…look…physically different to you?”

Only once had I been closely involved with a pregnant woman. Madame Giry, may she rest in peace. She complained of the same things, and she did look different. Perhaps because I had known her since she was a child. Nicole, I couldn’t tell. I automatically disregarded the immediate thought and said, “I wouldn’t know, my dear. You’ve always looked this way to me.” I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Beautiful.”

So did she. She threw her arms around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her until our lips were stuck together and I had no escape, not that I needed one. I was in love.


	31. Chapter 31

Nikki

 

            I spent the next few days with Erik at his place because I had off from school and Auntie Tonya was either with Deshawn or working, but on the day before Thanksgiving, Deshawn came over to my place and Barry had our midweek meeting. We sat in the living room with some tea and cookies like fancy people. Before we started talking business, I told him, “You know how weird it is to have your teacher having tea at your house?”

            “Well, it’s a damn good thing I didn’t spike it with something and I’m gay,” he replied before taking a bite of a cookie.

            I nodded. “True.”

            “Really, Nikki, there’s not much else we have to do for the show. We have everything. The next four rehearsals shall be dress and tech and after that…y’know.” He had a hilariously wicked smile on his face that I returned. “The bad news is that Daryl has a funeral scheduled that weekend, so I’ll be conducting the orchestra. That means it shall be your duty as assistant director to do the before show speech.”

            Yeah, the basic _turn off your cell phone, we worked hard, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show_ talk. Sounded doable. “All right.”

            “It’s not that simple, Nikki,” he said firmly. “You…don’t dress like an assistant director. You need to.”

            “So…wear, like, my church skirt?”

            He gave me a dirty look. “No. A cocktail dress or something. Not dressing like a really clean homeless person.”

            I don’t wear dresses. Ever. “I don’t… _own_ a dress, Barry.”

            “Too bad, you’ll have to get one,” he said.

            “Auntie Tonya!” I called.

            She came in through the kitchen. “Yeah, babe?”

            “Do you own a dress?”

            She was wearing one. “No. I don’t. What the hell is a dress?”

            “Can I borrow a dress?”

            “No,” she and Barry said at the same time.

            “There’s no way we’re the same size. Don’t even try,” she scoffed.

            Barry nodded. “I’ll pay for it, seriously. Anything to get you to do your assistant directorly duty.”

            “Let’s go to TJ Maxx!” Tonya exclaimed.

            Barry got up and took his keys from his pocket. “We shall take my convertible!”

           

 

            So it turned out I wasn’t a size six anymore, but an eight, and tight fitting dresses either didn’t fit or made me look fat where I wasn’t before. Tonya and Barry coaxed me into a stretchy black dress that went to my knees and was strapless, showing a “perfect” amount of cleavage. The stylish ruffles hid the sticking out belly and to get them off my back, I agreed to it. I took off the dress and stood facing the wall of the dressing room stall, looked in the mirror and looked at the bulge in my lower torso. It wasn’t like a potbelly or anything. It was a bulge, and I didn’t know how it got there. I put on my shirt and tried to cover it by crossing my arms over it. My boobs stung. Something was wrong.

 

            I still kick myself for letting Auntie Tonya and Barry distract me from it for even a few days.


	32. Chapter 32

Erik

 

            Two weeks passed. It was only on weekends that Nicole and I met face to face and forgot about business. That was, until Friday the eighth of December. I found my seat in the front corner, reserved with a sign that read _Reserved for the Playwright_. I saw something behind the paper and peeled it off the seat. It was a note from Nicole.           

_Erik_

_Enjoy the show and stuff! I’m going to come over tomorrow before the show for any critiques and I have something to tell you._

_Love,_

_Nicole._

I put the note into my jacket and waited. First, behind me, came a middle-aged African-American couple that I recognized by the way they addressed each other. Nicole’s aunt and her boyfriend. Next to her aunt was an old woman whom her aunt called _momma_. I was tempted to introduce myself but couldn’t. A young dark-skinned man sat next to me. He wore a black trench coat, his hands stuck in his pockets. He turned his head to face me and said, “I used to go to this school. It hasn’t changed a bit.”

            I nodded. I didn’t care.

            “Except for the kids. They keep growing, getting hotter and hotter.”

            “Hotter?” I replied.

            “Yeah. The assistant director for this show, a student, _smoking_ hot,” he chortled.

            Tonya from behind me leaned forward and said, “Uh, excuse me…are you Dante?”

            He turned back to look at her. “Yeah.”

            “May I have a word with you after the show?” she said.

            He shrugged. “Sure.”

            The lights turned off and a spotlight turned on the stage. Nicole, wearing a formal black dress and sneakers, came in holding a microphone. The audience clapped and cheered. She caught my eye and smiled at me, then looked across the room and said over the clapping and cheering, “Okay, okay, thank you.”

            “Yeah, Nikki, we love you!” Deshawn called.

            “I love you too, Deshawn,” she sighed. “Welcome to J.D. Walker, everyone. I’m Nikki Lasalle-Jones, assistant director for _Learning Lunacy_. After ten weeks of strenuous rehearsal and collaboration with the author, who is in the audience tonight, I’m proud to present _Learning Lunacy_. Um, please take a moment to turn off your cell phones and pagers and stuff because the signals interrupt our sound system and are distracting to the actors. And please refrain from photography and…yeah, that’s it. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.” The spotlight turned off and the audience clapped as she disappeared and the curtains opened.


	33. Chapter 33

Nikki

           

            The show went on and it was glorious. I watched from the wings both the performance and Erik’s reaction. They were both quite satisfactory. Through the excitement, however, a part of me, which was about the size of a kidney bean and hid well under the dress, was anxious about pretty much everything, even Erik.

            After the show, the cast stayed behind for notes from Barry for the next performance. I dragged in all the letters sent by family and friends to cast members placed in plastic pockets attached to a sheet. I took out mine first and found three. I read them as Barry gave notes. From Auntie Tonya, Deshawn and Grandma:

            _Nikki,_

_Bravo and congratulations! We loved it! Auntie Tonya will meet you at home. I have to drop off Grandma._

_Love,_

_T, Deshawn and Gma._

The next one was sealed in an envelope. The front of it read, _For Miss Lasalle-Jones, to be read to the cast_. I opened it and skimmed it for keywords. It was from Erik. Barry said to me, “Anything to add, Nikki?”

            “Uh, nothing that wasn’t already said,” I said. “But I have a message from Mr. Y.”

            The cast looked shocked and murmured about it. I skipped the part congratulating only me and read aloud, “To the cast of _Learning Lunacy_ , congratulations and well done. My expectations and confidence was low due to your inexperience and youth, but you have proved me wrong. I am especially pleased with the performance of Louis Luna.” Lavon beamed. “The character’s eccentricities were conveyed just as I had hoped they would be. I shall return for the performance tomorrow night and expect an even better one.”

            The cast and Barry cheered as I read the rest of the letter in my head:

            _Nicole, I need to warn you—Dante was in the audience. Something is wrong. I shall be in my theater if you need me earlier than tomorrow. I love you._

_Erik_

            My phone rang. It was Auntie Tonya. “Hey, Auntie Tonya. Thanks for the note.”

            “Uh, Nikki, it’s Deshawn,” a shaky male voice said. “I, uh, think you need to come to the ER. Just tell whoever’s at the desk who you are.”           

            I froze. “Why?”

            “Dante attacked us. Tonya, your grandma, me. I’m okay, but your grandma might not make it and Tonya…needs surgery or something.”           

            I gasped. “I’ll…I’ll be there.”

            “Good. I, uh, gotta go.” He hung up. I went to Barry and said, “Barry, there’s a family emergency. I need to go.”

            “If you gotta go, go, but call me tomorrow,” he said.

            I nodded and ran to my car. A rose was sitting on the dashboard. I clenched it in my fist and bled a little. I had no time to alert Erik about what was going on, even though I now had his number. I sped to the hospital.

 

 

            One of Tonya’s nurse friends, Sarah, was at the desk. She saw me and said, “Nikki. They’re in room five. Go ahead.”

            I nodded and jogged to room five. Three rows of curtains were opened, where I saw Auntie Tonya, Grandma and Deshawn on stretchers. Grandma was pale and too weak to moan, Auntie Tonya was breathing heavily and Deshawn had the most color and looked the strongest. “Guys,” I breathed.           

            “Nikki,” Tonya said. She turned to Grandma. “Momma, it’s Nikki.”

            Her breathing, according to the beeping machine, slowed down as she looked at me and struggled to smile. I approached her and knelt beside her. She was dying. “You’re dying, aren’t you?” I muttered.

            She lifted her chin a tiny bit. “It’s okay, though.”

            “No, it’s not. My so-called friend did it,” I said.

            She struggled to move her hand so she could touch mine. I took her hand instead. She said, “You’ll do what’s right.” Her eyes fluttered closed and the beeping stopped and turned into one shrill ongoing beep. Auntie Tonya started to cry. Deshawn said, “Nikki, c’mere.”

            I hurried over to him. “Deshawn?”

            “You ain’t safe here,” he said. “Dante said you were next before the police came. They haven’t found him yet.”           

            “Why did he do this?” I whimpered.

            “Tonya called him on giving you a black eye and he…went crazy. He claimed you had a boyfriend.”

            My stomach churned. “Yeah. I can hide with him.”

            “No, you can’t. You need to leave the state and…call him and tell him where you are or something. My wallet’s on the table. Take what you need.”

            “No, Deshawn, I’ll be safe with him, I know,” I said.

            “Leave,” Deshawn hissed. “For your sake.”

            “Do what he says, baby,” Auntie Tonya called. “Call us anytime.”

            “Go!” Deshawn yelled.

            I took his wallet and ran to my car, but I didn’t leave the state. I went to Erik’s place to tell him what I had to say.


	34. Chapter 34

Erik

 

            I heard Nicole’s footsteps come closer and closer as I was cleaning the inside of my mask. I would have put it back on in time so she wouldn’t see me, but she beat me to it. She saw my unmasked face and halted in her tracks, staring. I noticed when I looked back at her that she had been crying. I stood up and sighed. “I told you I was a monster.”

            She smiled past her tear stained cheeks. “You asshole!”

            “What?” I muttered as she approached me.

            She playfully pushed my chest and said, “You totally overreacted. It’s nothing I haven’t seen on a dead person such as yourself.” She kissed that side of my face and said, “Really, Erik, in this day and age, _children_ have seen worse.” She threw her arms around me and kissed my lips. “I love you. You hear me, I love you!”

            “I love you too,” I breathed, holding her closer.

            She sighed. “That thing I needed to tell you…it’s really important that you love me.”

            “You know I do,” I replied.

            She reached into her shoe and pulled out a white stick. She handed it to me. There were two pink lines shown on it, and that was it. “What is this?” I asked.

            “A positive pregnancy test,” she muttered, sitting on the closed coffin. “I checked with a doctor, too. It’s real.”

            “It’s…mine, right?” I said.

            She looked up at me and scoffed. “No. It’s the milkman’s. Of course it’s yours! You’re the only one I’ve had sex with.” She stood up and cried on my shoulder. “I love you,” she whimpered.

            Before I could open my mouth to comfort her, I heard heavier footsteps. Dante came in, holding a gun. I gasped and threw Nicole to the floor. The bullet hit a mirror. She looked and gasped, “Dante!”

            “So this is your boyfriend? An ugly old guy?” he hissed. He shot again, I wasn’t sure at who in particular, but I turned fast enough for it to only hit the floor. I pushed her behind the coffin and got up. I picked up a sword lying around and threatened him with it.

            “Deshawn told me to leave the state,” Nicole called as Dante and I tore our respective weapons out of each other’s grips and fought with our fists.

            “He was right,” I grunted, throwing Dante to the floor by the moat. He bumped his head and whimpered, then punched me in the face. “Go!” I shouted.

            “I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t leave you!”

            Dante found a knife and held it to my neck. “Go!” I shouted again. “I’ll find you!”

            “I’ll be at my mama’s grave,” she whispered before running away.

            Dante and I were alone. I was looking into his eyes and swore I saw death. No, not again. “Now, _Mr. Y_ , you shall die.”

            My Punjab lasso had fallen inches away from my hand. I wriggled it out from under him and threw it on his neck. I put the tail in my mouth and tightened it before he could press the knife past breaking into the skin. He froze and I slid out from under him and killed him.


	35. Chapter 35

Nikki

 

            I drove nineteen hours to a New Orleans graveyard, arriving in the late afternoon. I wasn’t tired, sore or hungry. I didn’t even have to pee or anything. The only thoughts that took me while driving were Auntie Tonya and Deshawn injured or something, and Dante must have killed Erik by now. I was gonna be a single mother. I needed to keep the baby. It was Erik and me. I was scared. I needed a mother’s guidance.

            I walked through the open black iron gates, my hands in the pockets of Erik’s jacket, searching for the distinguishable grave I looked up before driving down that was my mom’s. I found myself half-humming and half-singing _Break My Stride,_ but eventually started crying it. I found the big cross that was her grave eventually, by a willow tree.

_Imani Desiree Lasalle_

_1971-2005_

_Rest in Peace_

            The stone was cold against my hand. I fell on my butt a foot away from the grave and said, staring at her name, “Hi, Mama.”

            I blinked and the grave turned into a transparent smiling woman I recognized from mnay pictures. My mama. She mouthed to me, the smile never fading, _hi_. She sat in the same position as me and held out her hands for me to take. I tried to take them, but they sunk through. I held them out in place and said, “Mama, I need your help. Y’see, I…I met your old friend, Erik Destler. Remember him?”

            She smiled and nodded.

            “I…I fell in love with him, Mama. He loves me too. But…my ex-friend Dante might have killed him.” I sniffled and felt the tears run down. “Mama. I’m pregnant with his baby. Auntie Tonya can’t help me because she’s in the ER…” I fell against the grass and wailed. My head didn’t fall onto her lap. It fell onto a patch of grass, leaning against the motionless gravestone. “Mama, I need your help!” I sobbed too loud for the world to keep turning, but when I ran out of breath and energy, I heard a familiar male voice croon in my head but maybe in my ears, “ _Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance.”_

I sat up. “Erik,” I whispered. I stood up and turned around. There he was, masked and spiffy as ever. He wasn’t transparent, so he wasn’t a figment of my imagination. And he was alive. I leaped into his arms and cried away the pain locked up inside me. He didn’t let go. When I was done, however, he stepped back, still holding my shoulders. Still looking me in the eye and holding my left hand, he knelt and reached with his free hand into his jacket. My jaw dropped. He produced a ring. A huge diamond adorned the center, surrounded by smaller ones like a flower or something. “Nicole Lasalle-Jones, will you marry me?” he asked.

            The sad tears were immediately replaced with happy ones. I didn’t have the strength to say yes, so I pounced on him and kissed him until we both ran out of breath. “Yes,” I told him.”

            He slid the ring on my finger and that was that.


	36. Chapter 36

Erik

 

            Monique Desiree Destler was born on June 14th, 2013, at 3:14 P.M. precisely, in a paparazzi barricaded New Orleans hospital wing. I sat by my exhausted wife, one arm around her and the other helping her hold our equally exhausted daughter.

            “She’s beautiful,” Nicole sighed.

            “Yes,” I agreed.

            “Like…I wanna cry, she’s so cute,” he chuckled before tears came down her cheeks. I realized I was crying too.

            Someone knocked on the door. I noticed through the window that it was her aunt and uncle. “Come in,” Nicole called before I did.

            Deshawn, Tonya and their one-month-old son Jamal came in. Tonya gasped at the sight of her grandniece and said, “Oh, she’s beautiful.”

            “Yeah, we were just saying that,” Nicole giggled as Tonya handed Jamal to Deshawn and went to her left side. “What’s her name again?”

            “Monique,” she said as Deshawn and Jamal approached her. “I can’t believe my aunt has a kid one month older than mine. Like, it’s going to be weird having playdates with your first cousin once removed who’s only a few weeks older than you.”

            “Or really fun,” Deshawn said. “How’s fatherhood so far, Erik?”

            “You mean for the past half hour?” Nicole giggled.

            “It’s the most rewarding experience I’ve had since I met Nicole,” I replied.

            She blushed and Tonya squealed, “Oh my god, you’re _the_ cutest couple ever. You’re Brangelina and Michelle and Barack and…yeah.”

            Nicole nodded. “Thanks, Auntie Tonya.”

            Monique fell asleep and the nurse, Ingrid, knocked on the door. “Ready to take her to the nursery?”

            Nicole nodded. “I guess.”

            Ingrid took Monique from us and left. Nicole then looked at me and said, “You’re the best, okay?”

            “No, my love,” I replied, pushing a strand of her hair fallen from the bun she put it up in behind her ear. “You are.”

            “Shut up,” she hissed. She grabbed me by my shirt, pulled me to her face and kissed me. When she ran out of breath, she whispered to me, “I love you.”

            Tonya sniffled. “It’s a perfect ending.”

            “Ending would refer to someone dying,” Nicole said.

            I took her left hand and pressed my lips against it. I said, “It’s a new beginning.”


End file.
